Songbird
by GigiLuVe
Summary: After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.
1. The Death of One Man

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** The Phantom of the Opera is quite near and dear to my heart. That means I am also hoping that I can do it justice. I am a big Raoul fan. I think he tends to get the short end of the stick most of the time. That being said, this is not really a Raoul/Christine story. It is the more popular Erik/Christine pairing. I found some inspiration from Beauty and the Beast, The Secret Garden, and the 1993 movie Rigoletto (I so hope that someone knows about that film). My friend would certainly be proud I name dropped that one. Anyway, I appreciate comments and suggestions, as does everyone, I am sure. Please feel free to leave any ideas as to where the story should go, as well. All is welcome. As just a note, too, I simply came up with the name Madeleine for Madame Giry's first name. If it is the same as in any other works, that is a mere coincidence. And now, without further ado…

**Chapter 1 – The Death of One Man**

The wind howled by the latched windows, rattling the panes violently, and Madame Giry pulled her grey woolen shawl tighter about her gaunt frame. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the eerie setting that surrounded her. It was very rarely that she found herself awake at half past one in the morning, let alone in the restricted wing that the master of the property occupied. He disliked being disrupted, which was the first rule she had learned on her first day at the mansion; and, it appeared she had broken that rule for the very first time in her career.

"Sir," she started then immediately fell silent again, as if she forgot her words. She swallowed, mustering up what courage she could find. At the very least she would attempt to appear steadfast and strong. "Monsieur, I would not ask under any other circumstances. It is just that the child has nowhere else to go." She held her breath in anticipation, awaiting his reply.

There was a low, impatient sigh from the shadows in the direction where one candle was lit. This candle was meant to chase away the darkness and allow some light which to see by. Instead, it allowed mutated silhouettes to dance mockingly with every flicker of the flame.

"Is it not apparent that there are already a number of mouths to feed in this house, Madame Giry?" the deep voice emanated back. Despite being seated in his high-back armchair, for she could see his elbow peeking out from the side, his voice still carried throughout the room.

"Yes, sir," she responded quickly. "I received word that her father passed away no more than an hour ago. I wasn't about to send a return post before discussing the options with you first, monsieur."

"Options?" Though he certainly sounded bored and impatient with the subject, the fact that he urged her on was definitely promising.

She took a delicate step forward. "At her age, placing her in an orphanage or dormitory won't do her any good. Another possible outcome is that she may end up on the street. If there is no room for her here, I am afraid her fate may be left to God."

There was a pause. 'He must be considering it,' she thought to herself. Truthfully, she wasn't terribly concerned what became of her relation. She hardly knew the girl. They had only met once when the child was nothing more than a babe. That was before her husband had died and before she became estranged from the entire family. The relation was only distant, anyway, and it was most assuredly not by blood. She had been married to the second cousin of the now deceased. There had been no contact with any other members for years. The only reason she had been informed of the man's death and the child's dilemma was because she was the only one left.

"Her stay would not have to be permanent or prolonged," Madame Giry reminded quietly. "She is nearly eighteen and may be sent on her way upon her birthday, if you so desire. And, what time she would have here would not be spent in a leisurely manner."

"You are saying, Madame Giry, that you would put her to work? She would add to the household staff?" the master inquired, attempting to keep his voice at bay.

"Of course, sir," she assured. "I would have it no other way. Especially due to the imposition it would put on you."

Time seemed to tick by as he brewed on this. Madame Giry could feel the cold starting to penetrate her shawl, and another chill passed down her spine. She was silently dreading the illness that could be brought upon by this nonsense.

"It seems to be quite a predicament you put me in, Madame Giry," he finally responded, cold and unfeeling. "If I do not cater to your request, I am essentially responsible for another urchin on the street. Yet, it would be an invasion of my space to allow her to stay here."

"I do apologize, sir," Madame Giry said again, profoundly humble and at his mercy.

He held up his hand to stop her, and she obeyed the gesture immediately. "You ensure me that she would pull her weight around here and not merely occupy space?"

She nodded, despite knowing that he had his back to her. "Yes, of course."

"Send word to your relation, Madame Giry, and inform her that we have a room for her here. However," and he added this swiftly, with a snap, "you will ensure that she is aware of her position here and what is expected of her."

"Yes, of course."

"Then I bid you goodnight, Madame Giry." And he dismissed her with a flourish of his hand.

xXx

Christine Daaé stared up at the dark, looming façade of the gated chateau, impressed and intimidated. This appeared as a palace compared to her previous abode. Her father had been a great violinist with the worst luck. So she had grown up close to poverty. It had just been her and her father for most of her life—her mother having died when Christine was still at a very young age. When she had received word from a relation that also lived in France, she had been completely at a loss. Not to mention that she was offering a place to live—this place to live!

It had taken two months to rightfully sort through her father's belongings and to make the journey to the chateau. Though her father hadn't owned a lot, there was paperwork and legalities to go through. In the end, she only inherited his violin and his debts.

She had raised the money for passage to meet her aunt by selling what little jewelry she had and any extra gowns that she found she could part with. Needless to say it didn't get her the most comfortable means of travel, but it certainly had gotten her there.

Christine picked up her carpet bag in one hand and the end of her trunk and began the strenuous climb up the chateau's front steps. Graciously enough, the master's very own valet had picked her up once she had gotten into Paris. But he had dropped her off at the front in order to park the carriage along the side at his usual spot. She did her best to balance the worn violin case beneath one arm, as she was too attached to have sold the last remaining keepsake of her father. Meanwhile, the trunk bounced helplessly and noisily against each step, no matter how hard she tried to mind it.

She had just reached the top of the stairs when one of the front doors flew open and a young, pretty blonde poked her head out of the doorway. "What's all that racket?" She looked Christine up and down with a rather disgusted and critical look on her face. "Can I help you?" she asked. Beneath the snotty tone was actually quite a melodious and sweet voice.

Christine did her best to smile politely, though having someone younger ultimately talk down to her was not something she would have tolerated under any other circumstance. However, she knew that she needed her aunt's aid, no matter what that entailed. "Hello, I am Christine Daaé. I was sent for by Madeleine Giry. Is she perhaps available?"

With no warning, the little blonde girl slammed the door in her face. It took Christine quite by surprise that she was left with a startled expression on her face. Yet, from beyond the exquisitely carved barrier, she could hear the girl who had just greeted her calling through the house. Even though it wasn't terribly loud and she couldn't decipher the exact words being said, she quickly figured out that her aunt, Madeleine Giry, was being sent for.

In no time at all, the door reopened on a different figure. This time it was a tall and slender older woman with graying raven hair and severe dark eyes. It didn't take an introduction for Christine to know who she was. Immediately, she straightened her posture and did her very best to appear as appropriate and agreeable as possible.

Her aunt swiftly glanced her up and down then swung the door further open. "Well, don't just stand there. Come in, girl."

She obeyed and shoved her way inside.

The entrance hall was a large space void of anything except for a round wooden table in the middle of the floor where a unique statue sat. It appeared to be an angel and devil winding together in a swirl of good and evil. It was quite enticing and certainly set the tone for the rest of the chateau.

There were two grand staircases draped in crimson to either side of the entryway doors that met at the top at a common balcony. Yet, they proceeded past these to the rooms beyond. As they went, Christine listened to her aunt explain, "From now on, you will only come and go by the side entrance, which is considered the servants' entrance. The master of the house likes to keep the front clear and clean at all times, for appearance's sake. As you know, I was only able to arrange accommodations for you here because it is understood that you will actually be helping as one of the staff."

"And I want you to know that I am grateful for all you have done," Christine expressed, attempting to keep pace with all of her luggage to tow.

"If you want to thank me then you won't let me down. I can't have you tarnish my reputation and my word."

Christine made a somewhat sarcastic remark in her mind, but swore she would never say anything of the nature aloud. Again, she needed this badly and would do everything in her power not to mess it up. Instead, she nodded obediently and followed like a little dog at her aunt's heels.

She was shown the kitchen and the immaculate dining room, the latter of which was most adamantly put to be used only for the master and his guests. Instead, the staff had a small, less impressive wooden table in a little cove off of the kitchen to eat at.

She was led up the back stairs toward the servants' quarters, all the while being informed, "You must address me as Madame Giry while here. I can't have the rest of the staff disrespect me because you want to experience some family bonding. You have already met my daughter, Meg." She was referring to the pretty blonde girl that had stuck her nose up at Christine. "There is Joseph Buquet, the valet. He was the one that brought you here. Monsieur Reyer is the groundskeeper. You will address him as such, as he has been here the longest and deserves the respect. Dominique is our cook. She will not cook anything outside of the set schedule, so ensure you are present for every meal. Lastly we have Monsieur Lefèvre, who is considered the chateau's footman, but also assists with household duties, as there are not many of us. That being said, there are several rooms that are closed off due to disuse. Try to stay out of these."

Christine was led to her assigned bedroom, where Madame Giry threw open the simple door and ushered her inside. It was of adequate size for one person, with a bed, a wash basin, a nightstand with candle, and a wardrobe. Luckily, she didn't have many personal belongings. She lugged her luggage in and set it down against the only bare wall.

"These will be your sleeping quarters. It is expected that you keep your personal space as neat and tidy as the rest of the house." Madame Giry opened on of the doors of the wardrobe, revealing several frocks already hanging within. "You have your uniform and some backups already here. This will be your daily outfit. Please save your personal garments for any time off that you may acquire."

Christine was glancing around at her meager surroundings when her aunt closed the wardrobe and walked up to her. At first, for just a second or two, her aunt merely peered at her face. Christine smiled pleasantly, gratefully. But in the next instant the moment was gone.

Madame Giry cleared her throat. "Breakfast will be promptly at six. I expect you to be dressed and ready to work immediately afterward. I will also take you around the rest of the property and inform you of your daily duties. For now, though, child, you can rest and unpack." She glided over to the door then turned back one last time. "You may call on me if you need me. Oh, and one last thing. Do not go wandering about on your own."

Then she was gone.

Left alone in the quiet room, Christine took a few minutes to fully collect herself. It was a lot of information and a lot of expectation all at once. Let alone the grief that was still plaguing her over her father's death.

"At least I have a window," she mused aloud, her eyes darting to the pane on the opposite wall. She went to it and, on tiptoes, was able to peer out at the gardens below. With some effort, she managed to force it open.

She took a deep breath, sucking in the fresh air. This was to be her life now. It wasn't as though she didn't have experience. She had helped out her father as much as possible when they had lived together. During his illness, she had grown strong—stronger than she had thought she could be. If she could overcome her father's death, she could certainly overcome this.

Christine lay across the thin mattress, sighing. It squeaked beneath her weight. She didn't realize how exhausted she actually was until her head hit the pillow. Suddenly, all of the stress and strain and emotions hit her. Her eyelids grew heavy, drooping dangerously. She didn't attempt to fight off the sleep that was pulling her into unconsciousness. Instead, she fell heavily into it. It was the first time in two months that she was able to restfully close her eyes.


	2. Tour

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** So this chapter may seem a bit filler/boring. I admit that it probably is. Therefore I apologize. In stories such as this, it is necessary to establish a bit more of the setting and back story before getting into the good stuff, I suppose. However, be reassured that very soon now we shall see some Erik/Christine interaction.

**Chapter 2 - Tour**

Madame Giry glanced at the face of the hanging wall clock yet again. The pendulum ticked the seconds away steadily, filling the otherwise quiet kitchen and dining space. Despite the table being nearly full, nobody talked. Perhaps they were waiting in anticipation for the new recruit to make it down the steps. Or perhaps there just wasn't anything to say. Under the latter, her daughter Meg would have provided some sort of relief, but she was not currently present.

Madame Giry wasn't entirely sure if she was hoping her niece would fail to make it down in time, as it was only a minute before six. She decided that half of her was expecting Christine to be late and the other half was hoping she would be proven wrong.

Sure enough, with only mere seconds to go, Christine descended into the kitchen wearing her complete uniform and a large, friendly smile. It appeared that the all black uniform fit her form quite perfectly. It brushed the ground and hugged her waist comfortably. Despite the high collar and sleeves that touched her wrist, it was evident that her movement was not restricted. None of the staff wore an apron, except for Dominique in the kitchen. The dark material hid most stains and the wash every other week did the rest.

"Good morning, everyone," Christine said, taking the last available seat at the table. "I've obviously just been taken on. My name is Christine."

Joseph Buquet tried to hide behind his thinning brown hair and seemed distracted by something else entirely. He wasn't much of a talker, as she had discovered on her transport to the chateau. Monsieur Reyer was easily distinguishable as the oldest member of the staff seated at the table. His wispy white hair and wrinkled face spoke of too many years in the sun. He smiled nicely, though, and nodded at her.

"Pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle Christine," the only other man at the table greeted. "I am Lefèvre. It will be a pleasure working alongside a lovely young woman such as yourself."

Christine's eyes darted to her aunt, who produced a look as though this was a common act of his. So, looking back at Monsieur Lefèvre, she smiled sweetly again and replied, "You flatter me when flattery is not necessary. I am just glad to be here."

A bowl of porridge was dropped in front of her with a loud clang. It startled Christine and caused her to glance upward. A plump, middle aged woman with sandy locks stood over her. "Ignore him. He knows better. I am Dominique. It is best for you to stay on my good side, girl, as I am the one handling all of your food from now on." She gave a welcoming and light-hearted smile, and her entire entrance caused Christine to giggle.

Madame Giry, liking order and professionalism, cleared her throat. Dominique immediately retreated back to her domain. At that moment, too, the little pretty blonde came skipping down the steps with a pair of ballet shoes in one hand. Instantly, Madame Giry's demeanor altered. She stood to greet her daughter and tend to her.

"Meg, you are going to be late," she scolded.

"Please, mama, I know." Meg bounced over to Dominique and touched her lightly on the shoulder. "Have you got a biscuit, Dominique? I am sorry, but I must run." Dominique smiled understandingly and handed her something that Christine couldn't make out.

"You cannot waste the opportunity Monsieur Erik has given to you," Madame Giry continued in a hushed severe tone. "If he had not offered to pay for your ballet, you would never have had this opportunity." She grasped Meg's arm tightly. Her voice dropped down another decibel or two, if that were even possible. "Do you know how it would make me look should you make a mess of his generosity?"

Meg ripped her arm from her mother's grasp. "I am leaving now. I won't embarrass you, mama." She twirled on her heel and departed the room.

Madame Giry straightened out her uniform and cleared her throat. Then she rejoined the others at the table as if nothing had happened. It was important that she keep up a controlled appearance. She realized that they were within earshot of the rest of the staff, despite having done her best to control her volume level. That happened at times with her daughter, unfortunately. So, with grace, she did her best afterward to recover.

"Well hurry up and eat then, girl," she told Christine. "We must not waste the day. There is much to show you."

Christine had only gotten through a few bites of her porridge, but she wasn't about make her aunt wait. She stood as the older woman did, and then followed her out.

xXx

Christine was shown the grounds outside, which included the gardens, the stables, and the matching shed that housed the outdoor tools. The gardens were as much of a labyrinth as the halls of the chateau were. But with Madame Giry leading the way, Christine was taken by the fountain and the gazebo and then safely led out.

Back inside of the chateau, Christine was ushered around to all of the areas that she would be assigned to. Mainly, she learned, that her work would be consisting of dusting, sweeping, polishing, and any other side tasks that Madame Giry deemed necessary. The latter was very adamant that she not wander into areas she was not familiar with, and reassured that if there were tasks that led her into these other rooms and wings, Madame Giry would instruct her or show her where she had to go.

Finally, the tour led them to the edge of a darkened corridor that appeared to veer off on its own from the rest of the mansion. "This area is strictly forbidden," Madame Giry informed with her back to the blackened hallway. "It is the master's personal rooms and he does not like to be disturbed. Is that understood?"

Christine tried to glance around Madame Giry and into the darkness, but it was useless. She couldn't see anything beyond about two feet inward. Yet, despite the warnings, she found that she was more curious than anything. Especially since the master of the chateau had yet to introduce himself. "When will I meet the master?" Christine inquired. "I would certainly like to thank him for his generosity."

"Don't be so daft, child," Madame Giry chided. "The master is far too busy to cater to the whims of his household staff."

"I see." Christine dropped the subject, but not her interest. "What is it that he does?"

It was clear that her aunt was beginning to become impatient and didn't particular like spilling details about her employer. "Master Erik composes operas and consults on pieces created by others. He is really very good at his work, and also very dedicated."

Christine nodded, impressed. "Would I recognize any of his work?"

"Certainly, but currently that should be the least of your concerns. Your mind should be focused on your tasks here and not on the master and his business."

"I understand, Madame Giry. I am just trying to learn more of Erik and therefore better my own efforts so that he may approve," Christine said innocently.

"You will refer to him as Master Erik, if you must," Madame Giry corrected harshly. "You will not show him such disrespect."

"Yes, ma'am," she said softly and shortly.

Mentally, her mind was rampant with what she had just learned. It was quite a pleasant surprise that her new employer was part of the music world, as she was very fond of the subject herself. Her father would constantly play his violin and she would accompany him. She had found her voice at an early age and stretched it accordingly to his tunes.

That didn't make her any sort of expert, of course. She had only dreamed of being on an actual stage and belting to a real audience. Even so, she could still appreciate it as much as the next person.

With just that briefest of information, she could already understand why he may have wanted to assist Meg in her ballet efforts. As an artist, if he had seen the talent that lay within the sprightly girl then he would have felt compelled to lend a helping hand. Of course, all of these thoughts were merely assumptions on Christine's part. She figured that if she ever came across the master of the chateau she could certainly put her questions to him.

Master Erik was an enigma that Christine was curious to figure out. If she never actually ever got her chance to meet with him face to face, she figured just musing about him would assist in making her days just a bit more entertaining and time flow just a bit faster.

Madame Giry cleared her throat. "Now come along. We are already far behind schedule as it is." She bustled past her niece, indicating that it really was time to head out.

Christine hesitated, giving one last look at the restricted corridor, before pivoting to follow her aunt. Little did she know as she made her leave that within those shadows was a pair of eyes looking on in just as much curiosity.


	3. A Song from the Past

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Chapter 3 – A Song from the Past**

Christine hauled the bucket of dirty water out to the back of the chateau and dumped it into some bushes. It had been a few weeks now and she found herself unsupervised and competent. For those first few days, she had still needed the aid of her aunt or another of the staff that happened to be nearby. It was the difference in the surroundings, expectations, and storage that she had to learn. She was intelligent and quick-witted, though, and had a good handle of her duties now.

She set the wooden bucket onto the ground and shielded her eyes as she glanced up at the sky. It was a bright and beautiful day. Perhaps the heat wasn't as much of an asset as it seemed with her being in a heavy frock and going in and out of the chateau all day.

She was making good time with her chores and so decided to take a short break and enjoy the fresh air. She strolled along the outer wall of the house, attempting to stay within the shadows that the large building cast across the ground, until she could branch off into the spacious backyard. She could only vaguely recall the route through the gardens, and therefore decided to stay near the fountain at the head of the maze. For, apart from wanting to avoid getting lost while she was still considered new, she believed that perhaps the water would offer a little bit of relief from the harsh sunlight.

As she strolled, she reflected on her time at the chateau thus far. She couldn't recall a time where she had felt more alone. Physically the place was very spacious and there were fewer staff members than there should have been for a property this large. It was more than that, though. This was an entirely new environment and she was still in the process of finding her niche. There was simply nobody she could confide in—nobody who would understand.

Christine began humming an old tune her father had taught her. It was supposed to be a calming and comforting melody. She hiked up her skirt so that she might be able to sit on the side of the stone fountain and drag her fingers across the surface of the water. It certainly did feel cool compared to the temperature outside.

She looked beyond the distorted reflections to the water and let her mind go. She reflected on a time in her past when she had traveled with her father to the sea. She recalled meeting a boy there, who had gallantly saved her little red scarf from the treacherous waters. Now that scarf was gone, just like that boy, just like her father. Nothing from the past ever remained the same.

A loud clatter jarred Christine from her reverie. She twirled around and spied Monsieur Reyer behind a wooden wheelbarrow with a shattered pot on the ground beside it. Putting two and two together, it appeared as though the porcelain had fallen and smashed on the ground when he had come to a halt by her. It wasn't the first time she had begun to sing aloud without even realizing.

"Monsieur Reyer!" she exclaimed, rushing toward him to assist in the cleanup.

"Please be careful, mademoiselle," he warned, bending down carefully to scoop up the broken pieces. "I would not want you to get hurt."

"Oh, poppycock. I am certainly more than capable of lending a hand," she insisted.

There was a pause as they scooped up the bigger pieces, placing them carefully on top of one another to transfer more easily into the wheelbarrow. Monsieur Reyer had actually cleared a little place for them at the bottom. Seeing that his efforts were futile, however, since Christine refused to let him assist, he stood back and watched over her.

"I do apologize about my clumsiness," he said. "I heard the loveliest of singing along the side of the chateau and had to find its source." He had just confirmed her beliefs without even knowing he had done so. "I am afraid that I was so startled to see that it was you that the cart lost balance and the pot tipped over."

"Then perhaps I am the one who should apologize, Monsieur Reyer," she stated, standing up with the last shards. She placed it in the cart with the rest of the garbage. "I didn't even know that I was singing. Obviously I would have restrained myself if I was at all aware."

"It was quite beautiful," he responded with a smile.

Christine smiled back, but she wasn't as carefree about it as he seemed to be. She was worried that her aunt might have heard, since she must have been singing awfully loud. Luckily, there was no sign of Madame Giry bustling out to scold her about it or poking around wondering where the noise had come from. She could only imagine what sort of talking to she would have gotten. She supposed that singing and music in general wasn't necessarily a common thing in the household, even with the master's compositions.

Her eyes darted about the outside of the chateau, just to be sure that she was still in the clear. Other than a number of open windows that had draperies billowing, there was no sign of movement or life.

With Monsieur Reyer returning to work, she decided it was best if she were to do the same. She walked cautiously back to where she had left the bucket, stepping as if there were broken glass scattered about and she wasn't wearing shoes or stockings. She gave one last look around outside then ducked back into the chateau with her bucket in hand.

xXx

The flame flickered on the single candle alight within Christine's bed chambers. It danced every time she walked by to prepare for sleep and for the next day. She finished dusting off her uniform and hung it on the outside of the wardrobe. She placed the shoes and stockings delicately on the ground next to it. In the time since her arrival, she had managed to add a little time piece and small piece of broken mirror to her room.

She glided into a seated position on the edge of the mattress and took up that little piece of mirror and the comb that had been hidden in her nightstand. Holding the glass up in one hand, she ran her comb through her hair with the other. Her chocolate-colored tresses were thick with curls, but not at all a tangled mess. It tended to remain fairly easy to brush, despite its usual fully and busy appearance.

Her father had always admired her long locks. He had claimed that it had reminded him of her mother's hair. Since she had very few memories of her mother, she had cherished any information he had chosen to share about her. Now with her father gone, as well, she saw her hair and the memory as something precious enough to keep.

A soft knock issued from the closed door. Christine glanced over at it as if she were able to see through to the person calling upon her. Obviously not being able to do just that, she placed the mirror and comb down on her nightstand and tiptoed over to it.

"Yes?" she called through the wood.

"It is Madame Giry. May I have a word?" the feminine, controlled voice answered.

Christine took a deep breath, preparing herself, before pulling open the door. She smiled in a welcoming fashion and stepped aside to allow her into the small bedroom. "Good evening, Madame Giry. Come in, please."

"Thank you." Madame Giry stepped over the threshold. She was still in the outfit she had adorned that day, as she tended to not even prepare for bed until everyone else had extinguished their candle. She glanced around skeptically at the room and what little her niece had done with it.

Christine closed the door softly then cleared her throat. "So what can I do for you?"

Madame Giry turned toward her as if she suddenly remembered the reason for her visit. "Master Erik sent for me this evening to have a word. It is quite rarely that he does this. I believe he finds that the way I run things is to his liking. But, whenever he does call for me, it is only for a matter of utmost importance."

Christine's eyes went wide. She was actually feeling a little for her aunt in that moment, for the woman looked quite nervous if stone ever could. Her eyes seemed unable to rest on any one thing for too long, and her long bony fingers kept twitching against one another in a way that she hadn't seen before. Christine believed her immediately that the master of the house only dealt with the staff if absolutely necessary. It seemed from her perspective in just a short time that he didn't want to be bothered with any of these responsibilities. That was perhaps why he had pushed them onto her aunt.

However, Christine did not voice her concerns or thoughts. She believed it best that her aunt finish what she had called upon her to say.

"It seems that you were the topic he wished to discuss," Madame Giry continued.

"Me?" she uttered in disbelief.

"Yes. In fact, and I am not entirely sure what you could have possibly done to deserve this, he requests an audience with you tomorrow during the noontime meal."

Christine was so taken aback by this that she couldn't find any words to say. Luckily, Madame Giry was quick to criticize. "Obviously there is no denying him this right. So, when you meet with him you are to be on your best behavior. Do not anger him or question him in anyway, do you hear me? If he were to just give the word, you would be out on the street." Madame Giry cleared her throat. "Now then, make sure your uniform is neat and tidy. I will make arrangements for you for tomorrow regarding your duties. Now, get some sleep."

Christine was vaguely aware of her aunt shuffling past her and out the door. She still wasn't sure what to think of the request. Well, it was more of an order that she couldn't turn down; but, she couldn't deny that she was just as curious to see who exactly she was working for.

She blew out the candle then lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. The darkness above her held so many questions that didn't have immediate answers. Tomorrow would bring relief for some of those, but tomorrow seemed so far away. Anticipation made each second that ticked by feel like an eternity. She wasn't sure how she would make it through the day.

Through all of the wondering and waiting, though, there was one question that outshined all of the others. Christine ventured to ask the question to the shadows, hoping perhaps they could save her from the torment of anticipation. "What could he want with me?"


	4. Meeting Master Erik

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** I wanted to let everyone know that there is a slight change from the organ that we have all come to know and love. Erik has a grand piano in this story instead, as it seems to fit slightly better. It should correspond to the time period in France…hopefully. I did try to check into it to determine whether or not it would and I believe I found it in support of my decision.

I also want to take a moment to thank everyone for the reviews thus far. They are greatly appreciated. Also as a note, feel free to leave any suggestions or ideas for the future of this story, if you'd like, as not everything is completely planned out. -.^

**Chapter 4 – Meeting Master Erik**

Christine walked cautiously down the darkened hallway that her aunt had taken her to once before. This time was different, though. This time she was alone, and this time she wasn't forbidden from ever stepping foot within. She carried with her a candle to see by, since it was just as dark as her previous encounter.

As she reached the end of the lengthy corridor, she saw precisely why it was so difficult to see. Indeed there was a general lack of windows or oil lamps along the way, but also the only window that did exist, which was at the very end of said hallway, had a very thick black curtain covering its entirety.

Upon seeing this, she let out an exasperated sigh. She realized that the master of the house more than likely did this for some sort of mood lighting. However, she preferred functionality. With one hand, she threw back the curtain and allowed the sun's bright rays to penetrate the otherwise black void. Glancing backward, she saw where she had come from. It didn't appear as foreboding as before, but merely another ordinary hallway. This also allowed her to notice a staircase that wound upward. After having blown out the candle, she put one foot on the first step then began her ascent.

That morning Meg had treated her with more aversion than usual. She didn't know why the younger girl did not like her. Christine was nothing but pleasant. However, she didn't blame Meg for the way she acted. She could see little cracks in the child's delicate mask, knowing full well that it would shatter someday soon. Word had gotten to her, that was all. She was almost positive that, despite his generosity and interest, the master of the house had never revealed himself to Meg. At least, not yet.

The other staff members had also acted differently toward her. It seemed that gossip traveled swiftly through the small household. She was quite certain Madame Giry wasn't one to partake in such frivolous things, but she didn't know how else everyone could have become aware of her situation. In their gazes and looks there had been curiosity, surprise, and mostly pity. She didn't know why she had noticed pity above all else.

At the top of the staircase stood another door. It did not meet her immediately, but was down an even shorter corridor that also happened to be bare of any decorations or lighting fixtures. Thankfully the window at the bottom of the staircase still provided some light in which to see by. It was minimal, but it worked.

She stepped up to the door and stopped before knocking or making her presence known. She took a moment to replay Madame Giry's instructions to her. She straightened out her frock, which still looked clean and tidy, since she had been given the lightest of labors that morning. Her hands ran over her bushy hair, which she had decided when she had awoken to leave loose. Lastly, she took a deep breath, composing herself and her nerves, for she couldn't imagine what awaited her beyond the door.

Then she brought one hand delicately up and rapped lightly upon the door.

"You may enter," a deep voice commanded from within.

She was rather surprised at how well it resonated to her. It had made the speaker sound as though he were standing right beside her. Again, she mustered up her courage and forced the door open.

The chamber she entered took up almost the entire top floor of the chateau. It looked to be a small apartment in itself. She had been spit out into a sort of living space, equipped with couches, armchairs, many bookshelves that circled nearly the entire room, a fireplace, and in the center of it all, a grand piano. Along one wall was nothing but windows, most of which were covered by similarly heavy draperies. There were two that were cracked to let in the fresh air and the light. It was what allowed Christine to fully take in her surroundings.

Not seeing any sign of life stirring in this main chamber, her feet carried her softly to the two open windows. She set aside the candle on a nearby table that only else contained a strange vase with dying roses hanging out of it. She peered out of the windows and down at the gardens below. She could see Monsieur Reyer trimming the many hedges and bushes that created the labyrinth. From up above, however, it didn't seem so daunting.

"Admiring the view?" the same deep voice interrupted.

She nearly jumped out of her skin. She spun swiftly around to see a man clad in all black standing close to the opposite side of the room. She wasn't sure if he had been there all along and she had simply not noticed him, for he blended in quite nicely to his background. Or perhaps he had come from the hallway leading off into the back where more rooms were most likely located. If it was the previous, she wondered how long he had been hidden there for.

"I-It is quite remarkable," she stated dumbly, not really knowing what else to say. She had to admit that he took her by surprise.

The man shrugged his shoulders and, with his hands in his pockets, meandered toward the piano. It was as he moved steadily forward, much like a tiger stalking its prey, that she noticed the stoic white mask that was plastered to the right half of his face. She had to prevent herself from gasping at the sudden sight of it, or from staring directly at it. After all, it wasn't every day that someone adorned such a fantastic piece. More so, however, her curiosity rose.

"You must be the new girl Madame Giry brought on," he stated obviously. Though she couldn't really see his eyes, she could tell that he glanced her up and down, judging her and critiquing her. "You are not quite what I had imagined."

"And what was it you had imagined?" she shot before she could stop herself.

The abrupt question staggered him. He wasn't used to people talking back. He stopped, one hand brushing the smooth surface of the piano. There was a long, awkward pause as he tried to come up with some sort of retort. It wasn't so easy. It was a rare thing for him to be caught off guard. And yet, this little creature in front of him managed to accomplish such a feat.

"What's your name?" he asked bluntly.

She took a step forward, obedience finding her for a moment. "Christine Daaé."

"My name is Erik," he offered freely. "The staff around here prefer Master Erik, it seems. Feel free to choose whichever you find most comfortable, as we are going to end up spending a lot of time together."

"Oh?" The small gasp escaped her lips in a breath of air at the sudden announcement of the time frame of their collaboration. A small blush crept to her pale cheeks because she didn't even know what their arrangement entailed. "Excuse me, monsieur, if I am being ignorant, but what is it that I am doing here?"

A sly, devilish smile spread across Erik's lips. "Don't you know?" he asked lightly.

When she shook her head in the negative, he moved from the piano toward the windows where she stood. As he drew nearer, she began to back up, intimidated, until she could go no further. She didn't know his intentions. Hell, she didn't even know this man. The only thing she was really sure of in that moment was that she did not like the look in his eye.

With her back against the wall, she felt incredibly trapped. Her eyes darted this way and that, searching desperately for a way out. With no more than a foot between them, Erik leaned in, balancing his weight on a hand pressed on the wall beside her head. Just as she believed he might try to take advantage of her, he used his other hand to push the window open more and bent toward it.

"Imagine my surprise," he whispered, "when nary a day ago I heard singing coming from my gardens." Though his body remained still, his eyes darted back onto her. She saw the deepest, darkest irises she had ever seen. It caused her to shiver involuntarily.

Erik noticed and backed away. He pivoted and slinked back toward his piano. Christine was able to finally release the stagnant breath that had caught in her chest at his approach. Though relief flooded her, she couldn't deny the pang of disappointment, as well. Yet, her father had taught her to be a strong young woman. She straightened herself up and regained her composure.

"You will meet me every day in my chambers here at noon so that I may sculpt and hone your voice," he explained, back to his usual intense tone. "I shall inform Madame Giry presently of our arrangement."

Christine took a defiant step forward. "But, why?"

"'Why?'" Erik mocked, spinning on his heel in a confrontational manner. "Does the canvas ask the painter 'why?' Does the paper ask the poet 'why?' No, they accept the beauty that is bestowed upon them. The songbird does not ask why she sings. It is a part of her life—engrained into every fiber of her being."

Erik marched back to one particular armchair that stood out amongst the rest. It had a high-back and faced away from the windows and toward the fireplace. He plopped down onto the crimson cushion, hidden from view. A loud, exhausted sigh ensued.

Once Christine had collected her thoughts, for they were scattered like pieces of a puzzle, she tried to decide if she should go to him or simply leave. It seemed that their first encounter was not going so well. She dearly hoped that Madame Giry would not hear of every little detail and therefore be cross with her. She knew she had let her aunt down.

On the other hand, though, that was the last thing on her mind. She was still attempting to figure out this man. He was an enigma. His face never told the story of what he was thinking. He hardly said what he really meant—opting for the fewest words possible instead. One could hardly call him welcoming or gentle. He was rough, direct, and uncouth. And, now she had to be subject to him for however many days to come. She would certainly have left right then and there and never look back. The only problem was that she had nowhere else to go. She was at the mercy of this mysterious masked man.

"You may go now," he dismissed with the wave of his hand over the arm of the chair.

Christine yearned to say something, anything, but words were lost to her. So she departed, taking the candle with her. As she descended the spiral staircase, thoughts still abound in her head, she tried to sort out what had happened and where she would go from there. She didn't once give a second thought to that stoic white mask and what lay beneath it. It may have been hiding some sort of physical marring, but it couldn't hide the deformity in his character.


	5. A Promise Quickly Broken

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** I apologize if there are any grammar or spelling errors. I typed this up and posted it rather late and didn't fully proofread it as I usually do. I wanted to get it up, for whatever reason. Perhaps so I could continue on. I feel myself much inspired for these coming chapters. ^.^

**Chapter 5 – A Promise Quickly Broken**

"No, no, no. You did it wrong again!" Erik chided, pounding on the keys of the piano, which produced a horrible crashing sound.

"I've told you that I haven't had any professional training," Christine replied, just as frustrated.

They had been practicing a simple scale the last two days, but she had yet to master it. Needless to say, Erik was becoming very frustrated very quickly, and that in turn was causing Christine to become just as flustered. She had never been subject to the continuous strain on her vocal cords. In the past she had merely opened her mouth and sung. She hardly even knew what he asked of her in his lessons. But putting up with his unpleasant attitude was the worst of it all.

"Perhaps if you offered more direction-"

But he didn't give her a chance to finish her suggestion. He stood up suddenly and violently, nearly knocking over the piano bench in the process. "You would like more direction? It is like I am trying to turn a cat's last, dying breath into a symphony. But, I am sure even that would sound better. So, pray tell, what would you have me do to assist?"

Christine threw down the sheets of paper he had provided her. They contained a drawing of the actual musical notes and scales she was attempting to produce. The parchment scattered across the floor as she pivoted on her heel and marched toward the door. She had caught a minor glimpse of his facial features changing from cross to surprise, and felt some pride in that underneath all of her anger.

"I will not tolerate your insults, monsieur," she told him heatedly. "If you wish to sack me for this outburst then so be it. I don't care anymore. I refuse to be subject to your anger."

She threw open the door and disappeared into the hallway, making it a point to slam that same door behind her. For a moment she paused with her back against the slab of wood. Despite having basically just turned in her resignation, she saw this as a little victory. She didn't want to seem ungrateful or difficult, but there was only so much she was willing to take. This certainly was not included in that.

Christine made her way carefully down the winding staircase, a little calmer. Even so, her thoughts were still wrapped up in Erik. He was the most difficult, most controlling person she had ever come across. Yet, she was still intrigued by him. She hated that he had that hold on her. She wished she could just walk away, uncaring, but she found that to be extremely hard. She liked to believe that all of his hatred and anger came from somewhere that was shut off to the rest of the world—someplace that he kept locked away. She wanted to be the one to unearth it.

Suddenly she was given a start. At the bottom of the staircase, as she stared down the corridor, she saw a small figure loitering. It was unusual because nobody ever came near the master's private wing. It was easy to tell the identity of the person, due partially to the curtain drawn from the window and the sun shining through and also due to the figure belonging to only one other member of the household.

"Meg, what are you doing here?" Christine asked, coming upon her.

She appeared timid and unsure, which made her seem younger than her actual years. "No reason that concerns you. I thought that maybe I would get a chance to see Master Erik, that is all."

It was clear from her body language and her tone of voice that this was not something that had happened ever before. Christine decided to breach this cautiously. She didn't want the girl to return to her snotty ways. "He supports your ballet, but he had never actually introduced himself to you, has he?"

She shook her head in the negative, her pretty blonde locks bouncing from side to side. "No, and it kills me. He gives me this chance at a new future, but doesn't even allow me to show my gratitude."

Christine shook her head in disbelief, scoffing. "I think that perhaps that is his way. He is not one to want the publicity from his good deeds."

"I know that. I know all of that. It is quite obvious, isn't it?" There was sadness in Meg's large sapphire eyes. "But it isn't fair."

The mood had turned slightly in the blink of an eye. Christine tipped her head to the side, confused at the change, though not surprised. She was slowly understanding how this little one worked. Her ideas of jealousy were becoming supported by reality.

"You come here and somehow catch his eye. He just throws open his doors for you."

"Meg, you have to know that I didn't do anything," Christine tried to defend. "This arrangement that he somehow pulled me into consists of nothing but business."

Meg rolled her eyes. "Please don't patronize me, Christine. I am not that naïve. Why else would he ask to meet with you every day?"

"I don't know that it is proper for me to reveal such things, but I can assure you that nothing scandalous is occurring. In fact," she quickly added, "our little meetings are ceasing from here on. There is nothing that will get me back up those steps to see him."

Finally Meg seemed to fold. Physically it was apparent that she was giving in. She let out a deep breath and her shoulders slumped. She was trying to fight a losing battle and only she knew what that battle was. Christine had no idea why she acted as though she were constantly going for the throat. Meg was aware that this was out of character for her to be so rude. She also knew, though, that her territory in a sense was being threatened by the appearance of this new young woman—this new young woman who was lovely and kind. It simply was not fair.

"You promise that you are not going to see him again?" Meg asked adamantly, though willing to bend.

Christine nodded, for in that moment she truly believed that her encounters with the master of the house were over. After all, she couldn't think that he would still want to see her after the way she had spoken to him. In fact, she believed that she would be packing her bags that very evening and looking for other accommodations.

"I promise," she assured.

xXx

That evening, while the staff ate their evening meal, Christine pondered why it was she hadn't been told to leave the chateau's grounds yet. She had worked through the rest of the day un-harassed by Madame Giry regarding her earlier indiscretion. She could only assume that Master Erik was looking to have her finish the day out so he could benefit on her labor before giving her the boot.

"Everyone seems particularly quiet this evening," Dominique commented, refilling some of the bowls with the homemade stew she had concocted. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment. The food is too good to stop to say a word." She chuckled to herself then strode back to her domain.

She was absolutely right. Christine glanced about the table and every single person seemed too distracted to start up a conversation. Of course she couldn't expect anything from Joseph Buquet. He rarely spoke of anything sensible when he did decide to open his mouth. Monsieur Reyer was steadily ingesting his stew, probably tired after the rough day of work. He had been tasked with preparing lumber for the low stacks in the house. Lefèvre was pouring over a letter he had either received or was writing, she couldn't figure out which. Meg was staring down into her bowl, lost in thought. And Madame Giry…well, Madame Giry was actually nowhere to be found.

She had been called away by the jingling of a little bell at the very start of the meal. Christine couldn't imagine what could be taking so long, unless her aunt was being reprimanded for the faults that were not her own. She was sure that Madame GIry was up in Erik's chambers presently being given the order to find her alternative lodgings.

"Meg," Christine whispered, trying not to disturb the silence. However, her whisper sounded like a shout in the midst of it.

She popped her head up, interrupted and surprised. She wasn't the only one. Monsieur Reyer's eyes also darted Christine's way. "Yes?" she asked innocently.

Christine smiled. "In case I don't get a chance to say this, I just want you to know that you shouldn't squander the gift that the master has given you. You should use it to better yourself and your future. You could get out of here—see the world."

Meg smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Christine. I will continue to work very hard. Madame has only had good things to say for a while now. Apparently my technique is improving, and she is very impressed by my passion."

"Good. That's good."

Christine sank back in her chair, satisfied with how her and her cousin would part. Though they had started off rocky, they had finally discovered common, comfortable ground. She wondered if she should say her farewells to everybody else or wait for the news to arrive. She figured she might as well take advantage of the gathering.

She looked around. "Can I also just say how wonderful it was to meet all of you? Really, my time here has been nothing but pleasant."

Monsieur Reyer was the only one to offer her a consoling smile. "Oh, well you are certainly a joy to have around, mademoiselle. Were you going somewhere?" Or perhaps it was a confused one.

"Perhaps," was all she answered.

"Oh, it isn't because Master Erik asked to see you, is it?" he inquired.

"I think I may have said some things I shouldn't have," she admitted. "It wasn't very proper of me."

"It must have been deserved then. I met with Master Erik years ago when he first took me on," Monsieur Reyer told.

This seemed to take everyone by surprise. They all stopped what they had previously been doing to stare curiously at him. "Are you going mad, Monsieur Reyer?" Dominique spat from her station in the kitchen. She had basically spoken for them all.

"Not at all, my dear girl," he returned with the same whimsical and carefree tone. "I couldn't say how long ago it was now. I am afraid I don't recall things as I did back then. Yet, I can remember that day with the clarity of my youth."

It was apparent by the surprise on everyone's faces that they had not had the pleasure the Christine and Monsieur Reyer had. Somehow it had only happened that they were the lucky ones. Madame Giry, as well, but that was given.

"If you spoke out of turn or rudely to Master Erik, it was more than likely his doing," Monsieur Reyer continued. "He comes off distant and cold. It is true. However, you must try to see past that. He has redeemable qualities, though it may not seem so. You must have been defending yourself, and if so, he realizes that by now. I am sure you are perfectly safe, my dear."

As he turned his head back down to continue eating, Madame Giry came bustling into the room. Her lips were terse and she appeared to be a little on edge. Christine immediately stood with her presence, knowing full well the sentence for her fate was about to be passed. She still expected her aunt to send her away, despite the reassuring words of Monsieur Reyer. She clenched her hands together in front of her body.

Madame Giry spied her directly and her eyes never wavered. "Well, it seems you already know what I am coming here to say."

"Yes," Christine breathed. "I think I know. I want to first apologize for-"

"Save it, girl," Madame Giry interrupted swiftly and harshly. "Master Erik told me everything that occurred this afternoon. Needless to say, he was not very pleased."

Christine bowed her head. "Yes, I understand that." Secretly she still stood by her actions.

Madame Giry sighed. "He would like to remind you that he still expects to see you tomorrow at the scheduled time. That is all." And she hurried back out of sight as if she had more pressing matters to deal with.

Christine looked up shocked and speechless. He was still expecting her even after all she had said and done. Now she was very confused and very curious. Anything she had thought she might know about this man, regarding his character and his attitude, flew out the window.

Then she remembered Meg. She looked quickly her way and saw the pain on her face. "Meg, I-"

But the girl was up and out of the room. She could be heard dashing up the stairs to her sleeping quarters. Christine felt embarrassed and ashamed. She sat back down, however, to finish her meal. She hated that her promise to Meg was broken, but there was really nothing she could do about it. Well, truthfully, she supposed she could pack up and go willingly. She could refuse to see Erik again.

She could, she decided, but she would not.


	6. The Song

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** As it was brought up in the last chapter, Madame Giry did mention that Erik had told her everything. To clarify, that is not exactly so. He certainly imparted some things to her, but he did not say anything that would get Christine into any additional trouble. Just to put all of your minds at ease. -.^

Also, I am in no means a singer. I may have at one point taken one semester of choir, but I can't even remember if I did or did not. So please forgive me if I should get anything about technique or whatnot wrong. I will try to stay away from it as much as possible…for all of our sake.

**Chapter 6 – The Song**

Christine hesitantly knocked on the door. Her breath was caught in her throat while she waited for the response. She knew she had to be strong, as well as careful. She didn't want a repeat of what had occurred the day before. But at the same time, she knew that just because she resisted and stood up for herself, he wouldn't immediately dismiss her from the property.

Instead of the usual voice on the opposite side of the door, the handle turned and the door swung inward on the master himself. Not once in their meetings had he actually opened the door for her. She could already sense his shame and penitence.

Without a word, just a single glance between them, she entered into his lair.

After having closed the door, Erik removed several sheets of paper from the piano and handed them to Christine, who stood in her usual spot nearby. He cleared his throat then quietly informed her, "I took the liberty of looking over the lessons I laid out for you and tweaking them a bit."

"Thank you."

Christine knew that she would never get a full, verbal apology from him. He would never come out and say that he was wrong and that he regretted what he had said to her. These little things he did, though, showed her that instead.

"Shall we start then?"

She nodded, and he took his seat. Slowly, they went through one scale then repeated it again. Then he stopped. He stood up again, silent, and went to her side. She was slightly alarmed at first, not quite sure how he was going to react, for she knew instantly that she hadn't performed to his high expectations. However, he remained gentle and calm.

"Try drawing breath from here." He started to reach toward her torso, but hesitated midway, withdrawing his hand completely. Instead, he touched the middle of his chest, nervous to demonstrate on her. "If you open up your airways and not try to push the sound out of your throat, you won't be lacking air so much."

"I think I understand. May we try it again?" she asked politely.

"Yes, of course." He nodded, resuming his seat.

Christine took a deep breath. Then, when the notes began to chime on the piano, she sang. She could feel and hear the difference. The revised instructions on the pages in her hands made better sense to her, as well, and she was performing accordingly. She had absorbed the suggestions and teachings that Erik had given her and learned from them.

As the scale came to a close, Erik turned his head toward her. With no smile, no show of emotion, he said, "Better."

The softest of smiles upturned Christine's lips. A little flutter touched her stomach at the notice of immediate improvement. Though it could hardly be labeled as praise, she thought of it as such. And, at that moment, that was all she wanted from him.

Erik slid off of the piano bench and walked toward the wall with the windows. "Tell me something, Mademoiselle Daaé, that day you were singing by the fountain, what were you thinking about?"

The question seemed to come out of the blue. She didn't know why this would be relevant in her studies or what sort of end he could use the information for. She didn't want to come out and tell him of her father or of her past. So far she hadn't revealed that information to anyone in the chateau. There was nothing that made this man different from the rest. Well, perhaps…

"I-I don't know," Christine lied. She had never been very good at it.

Erik seemed unperturbed by her answer. Instead, he leaned closer to the open window, as if attempting to make out something very small on the ground below. "Of course you do," he insisted. "You had to have been thinking of something."

"Nothing, really," she insisted right back, but started to feel rather nervous. She knew she couldn't keep up the charade for much longer. "My mind was completely clear—free of all thought."

He turned. "Nobody who sings like that has an empty head, Mademoiselle Daaé."

"What is it you want me to say, Erik?" she addressed boldly. "I am growing tired of these mind games."

"The truth, that is all." He began his slow stroll back to where he had left her. "The song is dated, so you must have learned it sometime in your past. If that is the case, it was probably from some relative or close friend of yours. Perhaps, for one reason or another, you do not see this person anymore, but something triggered you to recollect a memory that he or she was a part of. Please tell me if I am at all nearing the answer."

Christine swallowed the lump that had arisen in her throat. She was angry and sad, but mostly offended by what he was saying. She was insulted that he was showing no remorse, no understanding of her situation. She was no longer an individual with individual experiences and feelings. He had put her into a large pool of people with shattered pasts.

"It was my father who taught me that tune. He is dead now," she told him coldly. "I had been thinking of him, yes."

"Yes, that would be an emotional event for you, I'm sure."

The tone of his voice betrayed him a little, for it seemed that he had already known of the event. It enraged Christine even more. Her hands tightened into fists at her sides. "Thank you for your comforting words. I can see how sympathetic about it you are."

"Death walks hand in hand with life, my dear," Erik said rather harshly. "Accept that. Embrace all of the emotions that life and death have to offer. That is where passion lies."

"I've had enough of this," Christine announced, actually on the verge of tears.

For her, the death of her father was still too fresh. She couldn't be having this sort of conversation with someone she couldn't even say she knew. She dropped the sheets of paper onto the piano and veered toward the door. She had known when she had been ascending that spiral staircase to his chambers that it was a bad idea. She had to learn to trust her instincts more.

"You are running away," Erik told her, remaining where he was near the piano.

"I am not," she insisted.

"Yes, you are. You are trying to run from the feelings I just stirred up."

Christine ceased walking and whirled around, tears quite apparent in her large eyes. "That's right. Take credit for these feelings of hatred and detestation. You are horrid and miserable, and you are only content once the world around you feels the same way."

Erik seemed to close the distance between them in several large strides. "Use that, Christine. Sing. Let me hear your emotions."

With little other options before her, she closed her eyes gently, took a deep, unsteady breath, and opened her mouth.

Nothing had been planned. She didn't know what words would come out, what melody. She didn't even know if what she sang was an actual song. She didn't listen to the lyrics. She realized that the lyrics didn't matter. She could feel all of her anger letting loose in the song. As it was coming out in her words, she could feel the strain leaving her body, as well.

She reached the end of her song. Awareness flooded back into her. She glanced around at her surroundings as if she had never seen them before. Her ears caught the last few chimes of the piano that had been accompanying her. Her eyes came to rest on Erik, who was seated at that very piano, dole out the last remaining notes. Then all was silent.

Erik got up and steadily approached Christine. All she could do was watch in confusion. She didn't know what had just happened or how he had gotten to the piano. She recalled him being right next to her only minutes before. Her gaze never left him.

His face was as stoic as the white mask he wore. It caused her to be uneasy, more so because she was still attempting to regain her consciousness. She had felt as though she had been to another world and back. She had been so overwhelmed with emotions, the outpouring of which seemed to have completely drained her. So she stared with tired, unsure eyes.

Then, he smiled.

It was the smallest of smiles, but it looked good on him. She supposed that she couldn't even call it that. It was more a hint of a smile, like a little preview. It seemed to confuse her even more so than his normally emotionless nature.

"I didn't want to do that, but it was necessary," he explained. He brought his finger to her cheek and, unsteadily, brushed away a stray tear that had fallen. "That, my dear Christine, is how you sing."


	7. Of Angels and Demons

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** Just to put it out there, some of you may have noticed the rating on this story has changed to M. In the chapters to come, there will more than likely be some violence and/or sexual situations. I just wanted to warn you all in case that deters anyone or catches anyone by surprise. Also, a week has passed between chapter six and chapter seven. I don't know how apparent I make it without just coming right out and saying so.

**Chapter 7 – Of Angels and Demons**

She giggled. It had been a while since Erik had last heard a woman giggle in his presence, and therefore seemed foreign to his ears. It had put him into such a state of confusion that he was rendered speechless. As he sat there dumbly, she continued to laugh.

"Please forgive me," she finally uttered, gasping for breath. Her hand fell on her chest, as if it would quell her racing heart. "That was an accident—simply an accident."

The two were engaged in afternoon tea with little cakes and pastries. The treats were more for Christine's benefit, as Erik was not much of a fan of sweets. She had partaken of a small pink cake, using an equally tiny fork to break off portions to eat. It was during one of these moments when she reached for the said fork that her hand had accidentally hit its stem, which had been laying just so, and caused it to flip across the room.

Erik's heart fluttered seeing the large grin spread across Christine's face and upon hearing the delightful laughter erupting from her. It was a much different dynamic from just one week prior when he had nearly lost her. He had continued to remind himself to be patient, not to mention that her talent was one he just couldn't afford to lose. Once he had begun to incorporate a short time for food and beverages, their relationship really seemed to flourish.

Christine took a deep breath, leaning back and relaxing after her fit of laughter. She stared across the small round table at Erik. "I want to apologize," she said, sober, though a hint of a smile still evident on her face, "for what I said before."

Erik acted suddenly distracted and as if he couldn't recall what she was referring to. "Whatever could you mean?"

"You are not horrid and you are not miserable. I never should have said those things."

He sighed, settling back in his seat and staring right back over the table at her. "You were quite justified in your words, mademoiselle. Do you think that I have not heard such things before? Or worst?"

Instead of a response, her eyes darted to the white mask covering half of his face. The porcelain was smooth and unreadable. He was certainly hiding something behind it, but she hadn't been exposed to what it was. She couldn't deny the curiosity that had been building in regards to it. She had begun to actually notice it less and less, though. It wasn't so much who he was, but just another part of his wardrobe.

Erik was quick. He managed to catch her glancing at the right side of his face. He had developed a sick sort of pleasure when he found people noticing the mask. Because, each and every person did so without fail. A small sneer spread across his lips.

"Yes, that is mostly why," he answered her silent question. "I have just shaped the man behind the mask to fit the preconceptions that the public have."

"Why would you do that? Why not prove all of those people wrong?"

"You shall find quickly, Mademoiselle Daaé, that the world does not care," he informed her cynically. "They choose to see what they want to see and believe what they want to believe. It doesn't matter what the reality is. It's whatever is perceived."

There was a short pause, as Christine appeared to be soaking this information in. Then she replied, "That is quite a pessimistic thing to say. You can't actually believe that."

"Oh, but I do." Erik eased onto his feet and removed himself from the table. His hands clasped behind his back as he wandered toward where the fork had landed. "Do you think I wear this mask for myself? I wear this for the world, because what they would find beneath it would terrify and confuse them."

"Perhaps you do not give them enough credit." Christine straightened her posture, shifting to the edge of the chair. "Perhaps if you shared yourself and your story with them they would not be so ready to judge."

Erik chuckled. It was sarcastic and snide, though. Not at all real. "Don't be daft. Different is like a death sentence out there."

"I suppose that is why you have shut yourself up in here with no immediate desire to rejoin the outside world." For one reason or another, despite his criticisms not falling on her for a change, Christine began to grow bold. She seemed insistent that he see her point of view.

With fork in hand, he peered over his shoulder, defensive. "Is that such a bad thing?"

"Well, yes." Christine stood, as well. "You cannot hide forever, Erik. As much as you try, one day something will come along that will draw you from your comfort zone." She paused, but at the last moment added, "Or someone…"

This seemed amusing to him for he burst out with a brief chuckle. "Someone, you say," he mocked critically. "There is not a soul that would willingly throw itself to a demon."

There was a moment of hesitation then, seemingly rather blunt, Christine began to giggle. Erik pivoted on his heel, surprised and disturbed. He couldn't figure out what exactly she could have found to be so humorous. He certainly didn't find any of their current subject matter to be so. It felt to him as if his soul was on the table, being judged and picked apart. And then she laughs.

"Rest assured I do not laugh at you," Christine told, ceasing. "I just find it quite amazing how you see yourself one way and I have an opinion that differs so incredibly."

"How do you mean?" Erik asked, frowning. He was just interested in getting to the bottom of her laughter.

Christine glided toward the piano, drawing her hand delicately along the smooth surface. "You are no demon in my eyes, monsieur. You are an angel." Her eyes darted casually his way to see his reaction, which appeared to be confusion and shock. She sensed that she had caught him off guard, so she continued in her explanation. "This may be silly and naïve, but you must allow me to finish before you completely dismiss my idea.

"You see, my father used to tell me a story when I was young. He would say that one day the angel of music would come to me. I suppose that when you arranged for these lessons I truly believed that his stories had come true." She stared at him with her large doe eyes, all honesty and adoration. "So, Monsieur Erik, you are in no way a demon to me. You are, in fact, my angel."

Erik really was rendered speechless at that point. He certainly had never heard anything of the like before. He had known darkness, sadness, hate. Now here was a beautiful young woman confessing just the opposite to him. He didn't know how to respond. He didn't even know what to think. In fact, her confession could change him completely.

Christine's fingers twisted together in front of her. She was waiting for him to say something—to even turn her notions down, as she had imagined he would. But, he didn't say anything. That was certainly enough to throw her off and make her nervous. She soon realized that she would have to be the one to break the silence, since he didn't seem to be capable of doing so.

"Erik?" she addressed, unsure.

This appeared to rouse him. He blinked a couple of times then cleared his throat. "Well, that certainly is," and here he searched for the most appropriate word he wished to use, "silly." He immediately felt her depression, but continued on. "I don't know what I could have done to deserve such good repute in your eyes. In a way it is a little daunting. Will I be able to live up to these standards of yours? Will I be able make you proud?"

"I-It's not about that," Christine stammered, shaking her head.

"No, I know," he reassured. He sighed. "But now you must listen to me when I tell you that nobody has ever seen me as more than what I am."

Christine took a tentative step forward. "And what are you?"

Erik took a couple of steps toward her, as well. He seemed to be pulled in by this little creature. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to reveal his soul to her; because, it seemed as though she could save him. Perhaps she was the real angel here, not him. That would certainly make more sense.

He held his hands open at his sides, as if to show that this was all there was to him and it should be quite apparent. "A monster."

Christine shook her head again. Softly, she said, "I think that mask is going to your head. You've been hiding too long."

He paused dramatically. "Would you like to see what I have been hiding?"

Her breath caught in her throat, and she froze. He never would have offered if he hadn't known she would respond this way. He slinked in closer to her, two fingers resting delicately on his mask, as if at any moment he would pull it off and reveal the horrors beneath. Her gaze was plastered on that mask, watching it bob ever closer. Again, that cynical smirk turned his lips.

Erik stopped just a foot from her. Her wide eyes told him everything he needed to know. His hand fell safely away from the mask, and he shook his head.

"Don't worry," he reassured. "You're not ready. Not yet."


	8. The Note

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** Lately there has been an influx of chapters because I tend to write a lot when I am not busy at work and I certainly worked a lot this past week. So other than inspiration driving me forward, I obviously had a lot of time to push out chapters. Just as a note in case there is a lengthy wait between chapters.

Also, this chapter could be seen as filler or a way to transition into what is to come. It may be a little short and a little boring because of this. For that I apologize, but it is necessary.

**Chapter 8 – The Note**

Nighttime had overtaken Paris. Most of the lights had been snuffed out, creating a sea of darkened windows. But, at the Opera Populaire there was still a single window alight on the upper floor. More specifically, it was located exactly within the offices of the two managers, Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin.

The time for them to have gone home had passed long ago. It appeared as though they had encountered another sleepless night. All of the dancers, all of the musicians, all of the stagehands had departed. This didn't concern them. The culprit keeping them later than usual was actually a note.

"What do you propose we do?" Andre inquired.

He ceased pacing back and forth to stare at the small piece of parchment, his hand rubbing the tuft of gray hair on his chin. Firmin was seated behind the desk and held up the note to continuously reread the scribbled words. For, he could hardly believe what was written, also.

"It appears that there is only one thing we can do," Firmin answered softly. He pulled the note closer, reading it aloud for about the tenth time. "'Dear monsieurs,'" it began. "'With my newest opera due to open in your theatre in four days' time, there are some last minute changes that I am afraid must be made. Firstly, instead of La Carlotta headlining the show, you will debut a young, talented woman by the name of Christine Daaé.'"

Andre released a sound of incredulity. "He wants to make a name for his mistress, I am sure. It's completely absurd, is what it is."

Firmin wasn't as quick to judge, it would seem, as his partner was. Instead, he merely nodded his head and continued to read. "'You will ensure that she receives the same top billing that La Carlotta would have.'"

Again, Andre chose to show his aggravation. "And how, pray tell, does he expect us to change all of the posters and headlines in time? And what about the money it would take to reprint everything? Surely the ticket sales from a performance by La Carlotta would cover those costs, but not from a no-name."

"He obviously has no sense of business," Firmin said matter-of-factly.

"Let's hope he never tries to have a stronger hand in it," Andre added with a raise of his eyebrows.

"Indeed." Firmin cleared his throat and continued. "'As this will be Mademoiselle Daaé's first spotlight performance, I insist that she also receive a private dressing chamber. Her success will be driven by her focus and coaching, neither of which would be at all possible in one of the shared spaces. I am sure you would agree.'"

"Focus and coaching, he says." Andre rolled his eyes. "Is that what people are calling it these days?"

"My dear Andre, you can't believe that lechery is the only form of faith he has in this girl," Firmin tried to correct.

Andre stared him dead in the eyes. "And why not, Monsieur Firmin? Has it ever before stopped us from showing some favoritism? Why should it stop him?"

Firmin growled lowly. It was true, though. The two managers did have a certain craving for the young ballet dancers and chorus girls. Being such influential men, the females came running, throwing themselves down at their feet and begging to be taken advantage of. Andre and Firmin merely granted those requests.

Firmin cleared his throat yet again and dove back into the note, rather pretending that he hadn't heard that last comment from his partner. "'You shall see that these demands are followed with the utmost consideration and charm. If my young protégé sends word that not all was to her liking, you will find yourselves face-to-face with a very, very angry opera ghost.'"

There was no retort or silly comment that followed. Instead, both men took this warning with the utmost sincerity. They had experienced his wrath before when it had come down to giving a blonde ballet dancer some time for private lessons. They dare not speak of the consequence that had followed when they had not heeded his instructions. Suffice it to say that she now met with her Madame for an hour after each practice, alone."

The fact that he had referred to himself by the name those in the opera house commonly gave him was also quite alarming. After all, it wasn't as if they had ever announced it in front of him. Granted that wasn't really reassuring in and of itself because nobody really knew what this man looked like. He had never revealed himself in the flesh to anyone—especially the managers! They simply received a copy of his finished composition and a note instructing them how to run it.

Firmin swallowed hard. The note was not finished there. "'Lastly, as just a reminder, you will ensure that my normal seat in box five remain empty throughout the entire run of this particular opera, so long as Christine headlines the main role. I expect to see my demands carried out completely. Failure to meet just one will yield unfavorable results. I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant, E.'"

Firmin laid the note gently on the top of the desk. When his eyes shifted up again, he saw Andre staring intently at him, as if attempting to speak from one mind to the other. The silence was incredible, except for the consistent ticking of the grandfather clock. To an outsider, it would more than likely seem like a contest occurring as to which one would break the heavy and suffocating quiet that had befallen the room.

If that was the case, Andre would have lost. He blew out an exasperated breath and began pacing back and forth again. It was something he could be seen doing quite often when the opera ghost was involved. It unnerved him, as it should, and even disturbed him a bit. Of course, he would never admit to either, though.

"What are we to do with such demands, Firmin?" Andre said. "Surely we can't meet them, can we?"

"His operas draw in the biggest crowds. We can't afford to not meet his demands."

"Yes, yes. I had a feeling you would say that."

Firmin stood and stepped casually to his partner. The calm motion aided in subduing the other gentleman. Andre stopped moving, noting that there was a definite word that Firmin had to say to him.

Firmin leaned in close, as if there were prying ears in the office. "I would be less concerned about his demands and more concerned with breaking the news to La Carlotta."

There was a pause, as common understanding passed between them. Then they both shivered, not from cold, but from the idea of approaching the diva with this heartbreaking information.

Firmin whispered even quieter than before, "I shall let you have that honor, my friend," then twirled away.

It took Andre just a second to realize what task had befallen him, but he was quick to act, holding up one finger to grab his attention. "Just a moment, friend, it seems only right that you should be the one to tell her. After all, she likes you much more than me."

Firmin sighed. "I see no way around this. I suppose we both ought to do it then, eh?"

Andre nodded dejectedly. "Tomorrow?"

"Agreed. Before practice, since there appears to be no more need for it," Firmin concluded.

"Yes," Andre agreed, "no use in wasting her time or ours. I take it this Christine Daaé will come in on opening night prepared."

"She best," Firmin warned. "I am not typically a gambling man, so you can see how this might be very off-putting for me."

"And me as well. Four days is not enough to completely change around an opera."

"Well our composer seems to think so."

"He is wrong, simple as that," Andre insisted.

Firmin sighed, taking a seat behind the desk once more. "Either way, this is what we have been dealt. It seems that there are going to be a lot of sleepless nights for us in the days to come."

Andre eased into a chair in front of the desk, appearing exhausted already. "It will be the same as any other time this mysterious 'E' decided to throw in last minute changes, I suppose. So, where do we start first?"

Firmin dug out a copy of the advertisement for the new opera about to open. It had La Carlotta taking up most of the front and the lettering of everything but her name smaller and placed wherever there was still room. He spread it out so that they both could peer at it.

"How about here?" he offered. "We must make an eye-catching poster of this new opera with a young woman we have never met before headlining it."

Andre shrugged sarcastically. "What could be so hard about that?"


	9. A Face in the Darkness

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** Some of you may have already noticed that I do some passing references to the songs in Phantom of the Opera musical. I like to think of it as a little chuckle. I will more than likely continue to do this, as I find it fun and amusing. I hope that all of you find the same enjoyment in it.

**Chapter 9 – A Face in the Darkness**

Christine lay awake, staring helpless into the black void that rested above her bed whenever night fell. It had been quite a different day. She had grown so used to meeting with Erik for the midday meal and practicing her vocals. In fact, the sessions had even begun to run into dinner time. However, that day, Erik had been nowhere to be found.

Madame Giry had broken the news to her over breakfast. He had been called away on some errand. To verify, Joseph Buquet had not been present. It didn't seem very often that Erik utilized his coach, but when it did occur, it seemed to be an all-day affair.

In his absence, Madame Giry had set her to work. It was as if she had been making up for the amount of work that Christine had missed out on. She couldn't remember a day when she had been more exhausted. Yet, sleep eluded her. And, there was only one reason: Erik's mysterious absence.

Finding it impossible to close her eyes without some sort of respite, Christine rolled out of bed and lit the candle on the bedside table. In the glow, she retrieved a robe from the wardrobe and wrapped it snuggly around her frame, attempting to stave off the chill. She slipped her feet into a pair of simple slippers then, with the candle in one hand, she snuck out of her room.

She did her best to tiptoe through the servant's hallway, afraid that the littlest noise might wake someone. She dreaded what her punishment might be should she be caught. So she shaded the single flame with one hand and held her breath. The pounding of her heart resonated in her ears, beating much like a war drum. It wasn't until she had made it safely through the enemy lines that she breathed a sigh of relief and continued on without so much caution.

The chateau was a very different place at night. The darkness turned everything into horrifying versions of reality. Shadows danced across her path, being thrown into even bigger fits by the presence of her lit candle. She remained quiet and non-intrusive of the world of darkness the shadows belonged to. She stayed within the orb the light offered and only took the most immediate path that led to her destination.

After she had gotten to the top of the spiral staircase, she neared the door to Erik's chambers. The closer and closer she drew to that door, she began to catch a hint of muffled tune. It wasn't until she was right up against the wood that the music was quite distinct. It was only obvious that it was coming from within his quarters. Her heart leapt for a moment because it could only mean that he had returned.

She lifted her hand to knock on the door, but stopped. The music, though just a simple tinkle, as if through a music box, was entrancing. She could feel a sadness that was not her own overcoming her—a past that was better left forgotten weighing her down. Instead of alerting the occupant of the room to her presence, she thought better and quietly let herself in.

Never before had she penetrated his private quarters without ample permission. The thrill excited her and made her dreadfully nervous at the same time. A little bit of sense in the back of her head told her that she shouldn't be invading his privacy in such a way, but it was already too late. She had already stepped over the threshold.

Again, the chamber she walked into appeared different from normally filled with darkness. Granted it wasn't completely bright the previous times she had been there, but it certainly seemed more welcoming than what she currently stood in. The bookshelves around the room felt closer than usual, like they were hovering above and waiting to strike at the most opportune moment. The high-backed armchair that faced away from any guest seemed quite foreboding. She was almost expecting someone or something to pop out from behind it and scare her to death. The piano, which typically held such life for her, appeared lonely and out of place. It suddenly seemed as if it hadn't been played in centuries.

The music acted as a beacon and led her through this dark forest. She stood at the entryway to the very short corridor that contained Erik's most private rooms. She could hear the tune echoing from someplace down that way, but was hesitant to follow. While stepping carefully through the main chamber of his quarters, she had begun to have doubts as to his presence, but she fully understood once she had reached that back corridor that she would definitely find him down there.

Christine took a deep breath and plunged forward. Her feet became like feathers, just barely brushing the floor in front of her. Her breathing became quieter, even catching now and then to prevent it from being at all audible. It was too late for her to go back. She had crossed that point of no return.

There were only three doors down the short hallway, and only one was cracked open. The other two didn't matter, anyway, since the music was most assuredly coming from the room at the very end. Christine made sure to blow out the flame on her candle, not wanting to be noticed. From the look of the flickering light jutting from the room and into the hall, there were certainly a couple of candles already alight within. Luckily, this allowed enough light in which to see by.

Christine crept right up to the door and peered through the small opening. It was a bed chamber, that was for certain, and it was most assuredly larger than hers—five times the size to be precise. A large round bed with black silk sheets was against the wall with the door. She could see it off to the side and a set of balcony doors just beyond it built into the adjoining wall. On the wall across the way, though, was a vanity of dark wood with an oval mirror topping it. From where she loitered, it appeared as though an attempt had been made to cover the mirror with a dark cloth. Currently, however, that cloth only managed to disguise half of it. The only plausible explanation was that it had slipped to uncover the other half.

It was across the room and on top of the surface of the vanity, among some other odds and ends, that she saw what had to be the music box that the enchanting tune was emanating from. It was difficult to make out any details, but she was almost positive that the shape atop it was that of a monkey clapping its hands together. She was becoming so comfortable with it that when a shape moved in front of her vision, she nearly screamed in surprise.

She barely caught herself, her hand flying to her chest to quell her rapid heartbeat. Her eyes hungrily took in the figure before her. It was a male body, naked from the waist up. The muscle structure and anatomy were the only things that appeared normal. Otherwise, there were numerous scars running all along his back in every possible way, for that was the only side facing her. She was mesmerized by the different routes and paths the scars took, attempting to imagine whatever horrible thing could have caused them.

Her gaze followed these lines farther and farther up, until it darted onto the half of the mirror that was uncovered. There, in the reflection, she saw half of a face that appeared as normal as anyone's. But, the other half…

She gasped aloud. The candlestick dropped to the floor as her hands rushed to cover her mouth. It was too late, though. The damage had been done. Dark, dangerous eyes shifted to her small reflection in the mirror. Then the figure whirled around angrily. But, she was already out of the doorway by then. Quickly, her feet carried her back down the small corridor and out into the main chamber.

"Christine!" She heard Erik call after her, but she didn't stop.

When she had first entered she had had her candle with her. It had shown her the way through the obstacles of sofas and chairs and pianos. With her light extinguished and laying uselessly on the floor of the hallway, the darkness consumed her. She began to panic, her breath coming in rapid succession. She didn't know where to turn. She didn't know where to go. She felt like she was suffocating.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed her arm and pulled her in one direction. She had no choice except to submit. She allowed herself to be dragged back down that short hallway and to the room at the very end.

She was thrown inside and ended up huddling near the bed. Meanwhile, her rescuer or kidnapper, she didn't know which to refer to him as in that moment, snatched her useless candlestick off of the floor and strode toward the wardrobe, which had been hidden from her initial prying eyes by the very door she had hidden behind. She watched him nervous eyes as he stabbed his arms through one hole then the other of a black robe and tie it firmly about him.

When he turned back around to face her, she could see that the white mask was securely in place again. "Christine, what have you done?" he asked in a rather pathetic tone.

She was still in a state of shock and almost didn't realize that she had the ability to speak. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She had to force the words with breaths of air. "I-You…" she stammered. "You were gone all day. I-I didn't know where you went."

His grip tightened on the candlestick, and she was fearful for a moment that perhaps he might bludgeon her to death with it. After all, it wasn't as though she had anyone who would care what became of her. And, she had disturbed him. She may have even committed the biggest crime one could within the walls of the chateau.

"You shouldn't have come here," Erik hissed angrily, turning away again. He threw the candlestick onto the vanity, which hit and violently disrupted the music box. The unsteady motion caused the drapery over the mirror to finish its descent. He leaned on its surface, as if catching himself. "I suppose your curiosity got the better of you, yes?"

She didn't answer. She was much too frightened and confused.

Still he continued on, a slight laugh in his voice. "Even Pandora would find herself impressed."

As her silence finally hit him, his gaze traveled over the mirror and onto her reflection. She appeared so innocent and delicate. She cowered next to the bed, pressed up against the silk sheets. He could see that she continued to stare at him, despite his temper. Or perhaps it was because of it. After all, once one really thought it through, they were still fairly strangers to one another. She couldn't say what his next move would be. Honestly, neither could he.

When next he spoke, his voice was softer and much more serious. His tone even sounded somewhat regretful. He stared at her reflection in the glass, quite sure that she was aware of his eyes upon her. "Oh, Christine, you have no idea what you have done, do you?"

Christine shook her head. In that moment she appeared young and naïve. He turned around to face her, releasing a frustrated sigh. It only took four strides to reach her. He couldn't believe just how small and fragile she appeared. He resisted the urge to scoop her up in his arms and comfortingly stroke her hair. The rage bubbling inside of him helped to drown out any feelings of sympathy or affection.

Erik stretched out a hand toward her, offering assistance in getting her to her feet. For a second, Christine looked confused and unsure. She looked nervously at his outstretched hand, as if he were tricking her with the gesture. But, she forced her hand outward, shaking as it went, and slid it gently into his.

He lifted her to her feet in one swift, easy motion, as if she was a doll. The suddenness of the movement and the proximity to Erik once she was on her feet seemed to startle her. A gasp stuck in her throat, and her body stiffened. She was terrified. That much was apparent. The only thing that was still uncertain was whether it was fear over his violent temper or over what she had just seen.

Erik leaned in even closer to her. Bitingly, he whispered, "Get out."

It took her a couple of seconds for her to comprehend what he had said and what he wanted of her, but as soon as she did, she withdrew her hand. She loitered for a moment more, searching his face for some sort of reassurance. It never came. Instead, his expression remained as blank as the mask on the opposite side of his face. His eyes remained cold and hard and determined.

Christine backed out of the bedroom, leaving behind her candlestick. She fought her way through the darkness. It took much longer to return to her sleeping quarters than it had been to reach Erik's private chambers. But, she somehow managed to do so without too much thought. Her mind had remained blank, still in complete shock, until she reached her bed. Only then did it reflect on what she had just witnessed.

She had been wrong, completely wrong, in venturing to his chambers that evening. What she had discovered had been most unexpected. It was difficult even after the fact to fully describe or comprehend what she had seen. She certainly understood why he chose to wear the mask, or why he had to wear the mask. She couldn't blame him anymore. It sent her heart racing even at that moment to think back on the deformed sight.

She hadn't realized what she had done—not in that moment. But now, she believed she might see what he had been talking about. She had revealed the true face of the person she had named as an angel. She had stripped away that façade by simply being there to see what lay beneath. Christine realized that Erik was afraid, too. He was frightened that she and that their relationship was forever changed now that the truth had been revealed.

He had wanted to keep her safe, and she had ruined that.


	10. A Past Better Left Forgotten

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** To start off, I want to admit that I was very nervous about this chapter. I don't know that it is terribly in character for Erik. I don't know that I dislike it, though. I really wanted his past to come out somehow and I thought it was too typical to be in a lovey-dovey sort of way, or however I mean by that. This seemed a little different, which is nice. Please forgive any discrepancies that may arise.

And, just to let everyone know, I am going to be MIA for about four or five days where I will not have access to a computer or the ability to update the story. I will be going to a convention where there shall be lots of fun had. I wanted to leave this just beforehand so that everyone won't get too antsy about updates. Thank you for your reviews and ideas/suggestions so far. They are much appreciated. ^.^

**Chapter 10 – A Past Better Left Forgotten**

"I won't do it," Christine insisted, striding heatedly past him with her arms crossed over her chest.

"You don't have a choice in the matter," Erik snapped.

It had seemed to Christine that Erik had made that day particularly difficult on purpose. Where she typically received little or easy work in the morning, Madame Giry had dumped a load of the most strenuous tasks on her, most of which were normally completed by two people instead of just one. She somehow managed to scrape through it, though it had ultimately put her behind in her day.

She ended up running late for her lessons, in which Erik had so understandingly greeted her with, "You're late." She hadn't even been positive that he still wanted to see her after what had occurred the previous evening. But, when he hadn't sent word otherwise, she figured the best thing to do would be to continue on as normal.

Even her voice lessons seemed colder and tougher. It was like they were back at that initial stage. Erik was short and terse with her. He always found something to berate her for, even as she attempted to appease a previous complaint. She quickly found that this unpleasant side of his was not to attractive, and she wished that she had not deserved it.

Christine stared out the window, pretending to be distracted. However, she was much too angry to find interest in anything else. If it wasn't already evident, Erik was the cause. She determined that she was merely acting in response to his already outrageous mood.

"You can't force me," she argued, much like a child.

Erik let out a brief chuckle of disbelief. "Like hell I can't. Be careful what you wish for, girl."

Christine whirled around on him, her fists now clenched at her sides. "You give me a three day notice that I am to be lead in your newest opera in the biggest opera house in the city and expect me to be flattered? You are setting me up for failure and you know it."

"You're being paranoid," he dismissed with a wave of his hand.

Christine took a step forward. "Do you blame me? Why would I think otherwise when you are still trying to punish me for last night?"

He seemed at a loss for a moment, though his eyes shone defiant and rueful. "I don't know what you're-"

"Don't give me that." It was her turn to snap back at him. "Do you think that I am dumb—that I wouldn't be capable of seeing what you are doing? I made a mistake last night that you are making me pay for. Yes, I know that for a certainty. Do you also not think that I don't regret everything that happened? Do you think I wanted to cause you such pain and embarrassment?"

"Wait a moment." He stopped her. "What makes you think that you learned anything about me through your snooping last night?"

"My snooping?" she asked incredulously, finding offense in the use of that particular word. However, she gave up as soon as she had asked, and sighed in frustration. Her hand rubbed the tension at her forehead. "I really didn't mean to pry, and I am sorry that I caught you off guard. That was not my intention. But, you don't have to worry because I am still here, obviously."

At that moment her eyes darted inadvertently to the side of Erik's face that the mask was plastered to. Despite the well covering, she could still see as clearly as she had the night before the deformity hidden beneath it. It did send a shiver down her spine that she did her best to not react to. But, it was apparent why he thought he would receive no sympathy from the outside world.

"I don't plan to be frightened away so easily," she added softer.

Erik paused a moment, sticking his nose up, and then he pivoted away from her. He stepped to his favorite armchair and eased down. She heard him hit the cushion, his back now facing her. "Most don't plan to be," he seemed to muse more to himself than to her.

Christine strode to his side and kneeled at his feet. She stared up at him with sadness and adoration in her eyes. "Monsieur, I would like to know everything you keep locked away. Can't you impart to me how this mask came to be?"

He stared down at her, distrustful. Yet, he seemed to be having an internal debate on whether to tell her his dark past or not. She had crossed the line by sneaking upon him last evening and seeing something she never should have seen. She expected him to be honest and open with her after she had pulled a stunt like that. It was laughable. It was also laughable that she hadn't run off in fear. Or that she hadn't chosen to ostracize him, as others in her position before her had chosen to do. He couldn't pinpoint whether she was being sincere or merely toying with him in order to impact a larger blow later.

Erik moved his hand to place it delicately, comfortingly atop of hers. Just as he was hovering over her hand, though, she retreated from his touch. He immediately withdrew his hand as well, hurt and embarrassed. "It's not contagious," he hissed at her then pushed himself to his feet. He couldn't look at her.

Christine cradled the hand he had been about to touch close to her body, as if for protection. Realization of what she had just done washed quickly over her, and she immediately felt guilty. "I've never thought that," she whispered.

"Do you recall when I said that you were not ready to see what lay behind my mask, Christine?" Erik asked. He paced the room away from her, his hands grasped lightly behind his back. At least he didn't sound angry at her anymore.

She eased to her feet, attempting to be as silent as possible in all of her movements. "Yes, I suppose."

"It is all you see now, yes? Every time you look at me. We can't go on in the way we have previously done because the deformity is constantly hanging in the air around us." He spoke calmly. "You were not at a place to accept it yet. You were still learning and growing." He spun on his heel, his eyes finding her in an instant. "You had not gotten rid of all of your fear yet. This is precisely why I deemed you not ready."

"And what gives you the right to say if I am prepared for such things or not?" she breathed, quite dumbfounded.

"Because I've had my entire life to study people's reactions!" he screamed, losing himself to his anger. He stomped closer to her, an imposing and intimidating figure, but she didn't flinch at all. "I've experienced how quick to judge and act people are when encountered with the strange and disturbing. I know how repulsive a deformed face is—how confusing and disconcerting it can be." His voice began to crack with the sadness building up. "Do you think it is easy to have your own mother loathe the sight of you?"

Christine's eyes went wide and she swallowed hard, but managed to resist the urge to react in any other way. She hadn't realized that it had been that sort of a situation. She had barely had a mother, but she also couldn't imagine having her detest her own child. She especially couldn't ever know just how that would feel—when all you want as a child is to love and be loved. The only thing she knew she could feel for certain was his pain and anguish.

Erik whirled away. He closed the distance to the piano and leaned on the top of it, his head bowed. His breathing was audible and heavy. Inside, he felt like he was breaking. He was always so strong and so controlled. He never revealed his past to anyone. He never revealed any weakness.

"Take a seat, Mademoiselle Daaé," he instructed, defeated.

Though it was hardly commanding in any way, Christine felt compelled to listen. She felt like she didn't have a choice. She found a seat on one of the divans about the room and fell onto the cushion softly, expectantly. She wasn't exactly sure what was about to happen, but she knew for certainty that Erik was exhausted from constantly being on the defense.

Though he didn't glance over his shoulder to confirm if she had done as he requested, he continued on. "Some children are born with dimples or curls. I was born with this hideous deformity on the right half of my face. How, is still a mystery to me. Needless to say, I was quite the subject of horror to my family. As proof, my mother presented me with a mask the first chance she got. I suppose I should be grateful to her for teaching me that it is necessary to disguise such things." He sighed and began to slowly walk alongside the piano, running his fingers across the smooth surface.

"So I ran away. I left them. Who wants to be a stain upon their family's existence, anyway?" He chortled briefly. "How I got from there to here is of no importance. I will simply say that I discovered places that put my parents' treatment of me to shame and others that made them look like angels. But in the end, they all disappointed me."

Silence pervaded the room. Christine dare not speak. She was like a sponge, soaking in all that he imparted to her, grateful that she even got a small glimpse into his life. She watched him slide onto the piano bench and hover his hands over the ivory keys. She waited. She didn't know whether he was done talking or not. She wasn't going to be the one to interrupt him and cause him to retreat back into himself.

"I found myself with a chance opportunity. I was able to apprentice, in a way, with a great composer." Erik's fingers fell lightly onto the keys and a soft, sad melody issued forth. "He taught me everything I know, and I like to think I taught him something, as well. He wasn't the most social person. In fact, I can clearly remember something he had said to me. He had said, 'You must understand the true nature of people to be able to write something as personal as music. But, that doesn't mean you have to like them.'"

Christine could hear the small, nostalgic smile in Erik's voice. Then he went silent again. She allowed herself to be carried by the notes he played, knowing they were coming from a place in his past that he didn't often venture to. She felt humbled and appreciative. Yet, it made her uneasy all the same. For, she didn't know where this would lead Erik. She had never known him in this state and wasn't sure how it would conclude. It was unsettling in that sense.

The song drifted to an end a minute later. Then the room was truly filled with silence. A moment later, however, Erik cleared his throat and stood. It became very obvious that their time had passed. It had been birthed and had died just as bluntly.

"You will step onto that stage in three days and perform as expected," he ordered, much himself again.

Christine got to her feet, as well. The magic was gone. She patted out the front of her long skirt and moved toward him. "If I agree to this arrangement, will you do something for me?" she asked. There was no resistance in her voice.

Erik stared at her, studying her face. All possible emotion had been drained from his the moment he had stopped playing. "Not that I will or that I feel the need to in order for you to do as I say, but what are you asking for?"

"I know of your involvement with Meg—sponsoring her ballet lessons and all, I mean." She looked down at her hands as they nervously intertwined each other. "She's never had the pleasure that I have had of meeting you. It would mean a lot to her to finally get to see her generous benefactor." She paused a moment then added, "It would mean a lot to me."

"I suppose I will take it into consideration," he grumbled, "but for now, you must practice." He slid back behind the piano, a surge of energy finding him. "If you were to perform in that opera at this time, you would be a laughing stock."

"Thank you," Christine replied sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.

"We can't have that, obviously. We have only three days and a lot of work ahead of us."


	11. Debut

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** I am back! I have been waiting "patiently" to write this. I apologize if there are some slight differences in character personalities or whatnot. It seems that five days actually do have an impact. Anyway, I used _Frankenstein_ as the basis for Erik's opera. Granted, this is not very important or relevant. Glancing at the timeline of releases and whatnot, it should hopefully work. Just as a note, too, the ending may seem kind of abrupt and weird and random, but it will make sense in the next chapter or two…I should think…

**Chapter 11 – Debut**

Backstage was utter chaos. Chorus girls were frantically clawing their way to get a good position in one of the few mirrors standing about. Stagehands were ensuring that they had the necessary props and sets in the necessary order. The ballet dancers were stretching. They certainly didn't want to accidentally pull a muscle or ruin a routine because they hadn't prepared accordingly.

And, away in a corner and out of the commotion, the diva La Carlotta brooded while witnessing the normality of backstage life on opening night.

She had her fur wrap about her shoulders and sported a very colorful gown beneath it. There wasn't anyone who would mistake her for anyone but the prima donna she was. She watched through slit and cautious eyes as the company assembled in their disorganized way. She gave a passing glance to the opening costumes, mentally going through the scene step-by-step. The air was filled with excitement and nerves, as was common on opening night. The only thing La Carlotta felt, however, was bitterness.

She was supposed to be the one starring in the new opera. This was her stage, her audience. Yet, in one fell swoop, she had been severed from both. She had been mercilessly kicked out of the role by a no-name youth. It was quite obvious that the managers just didn't appreciate her as they should. She didn't care what the composer instructed them to do. They should have defended her. But, she knew that that was expecting too much from those bumbling fools.

Carlotta turned away in one fluid motion, her long skirt sweeping the ground dramatically. She glided toward the hallway that contained the dressing rooms. She had really only had a single encounter with the girl who had stolen her role, and she figured she wouldn't mind laying eyes upon the little thief once more. They had briefly met earlier that day when the managers had brought the girl in and announced she would be taking over the lead. Needless to say, shocked was not a strong enough word to describe the reaction. Perhaps she could offer some words of encouragement—encouragement for Mademoiselle No-Name to leave and never look back.

Then again, admittedly she wasn't getting any younger. Her gloved hand went to her face and delicately caressed the age lines found there. Time was not an ally, especially to members of the stage. She had always known that eventually someone would come in and replace her. But she was still useful. She was not out-of-date yet. She could still sell out the entire audience.

She mentally cursed Andre and Firmin for making her doubt herself and her abilities. She knew she was the best around. One didn't get to where she was now by having insecurities. She had worked her way up. She had learned how cutthroat the stage really was. So, if her managers thought she would just sit idly by and let some street urchin take her spotlight, they were mistaken.

No, they were dead wrong.

xXx

Christine was a ball of nerves. She tried to distract herself by primping some more, but she soon lost interest. She chose to pace and knead her hands instead. It seemed to at least center things a bit. However, it also allowed her mind to wander and to worry.

Her big debut was less than an hour away. She had arrived earlier that day to learn the choreography for the show and meet with the rest of the cast and crew. Her sudden entrance did not seem to go over too well. They had been solely focused on getting her steps and positions down. Granted, there appeared to be some room for improvisation with her character. She had then gone straight into a small rehearsal with just the maestro and a few of his musicians.

Now, in complete costume, she just had to quell the doubts that she had been too busy to listen to before. It was definitely harder than one would imagine. Her mind had created a checklist and it kept going over each and every point. It contained the steps, the lyrics, and the instructions she had been given in this short amount of time.

Sleep had become a foreign concept in the last three days. She had been much too busy for any of that. And, when she had managed to shut her eyes, her sleep had been restless because of the looming opera. Even at that moment, she did not feel tired at all. Her adrenaline still kept her going.

Erik had taught her and trained her from before sun up to after sun down. She hadn't had a single moment away from him. His chambers had practically become hers. She vaguely recalled a time when she must have accidentally dozed on one of the divans. She recalled being awoken rather rudely and abruptly. Having put so much time and effort in, though, it would seem that she should be prepared and comfortable with where she was at.

There was one thing she sorely needed at that moment, though: Erik.

She yearned for him to walk through that dressing room door. She had ceased in her pacing to stare directly at it, as if anticipating the handle turning and him appearing within the doorway. Her heart fluttered the more she imagined it would occur. She had to hear comforting words from him. She had to know that she would be fine and successful. Mostly, she wanted to hear from him that even if she did fail, as she suspected she might, he would not be disappointed.

"Waiting for someone?" a voice behind her came.

Christine whirled around to spy Erik standing within the dressing room behind her. She saw no other door or point of entry, and she had not heard a single sound of his entrance. Even so, this was merely a fleeting thought. She quickly closed the distance between them, relieved.

"I didn't know if you would come," she confessed breathily. "I am afraid that this was all a big mistake."

Her large dark eyes searched his stoic expression for some sort of reassurance. But, again, the solid white mask might as well have been plastered on both sides. She could read nothing. He stared right back at her.

"If you keep thinking that then of course you will fail," he told her without softness. "Those types of thoughts are like viruses. They will bury themselves into your mind and sit there, slowly eating away at any confidence you have. You will have sabotaged yourself. So stop it right now."

Christine took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, monsieur."

He barely placed his hands on her shoulders. They rested there in a rather awkward state. "I've trained you well, Christine. You know this. You know all of this. Just imagine you are back at the chateau with me, going over lessons and songs. Take those emotions and experiences and use them to support you, not hinder you."

She nodded again, a small smile finally coming to life. Her eyes dove straight into his, swimming and sinking. She allowed herself to be devoured by them. Her mind emptied. All of her doubts began to dissipate. She was completely taken over by him.

Then a rap on the door interrupted them. Christine spun toward the wooden door, breaking Erik's touch and their gaze. "We need you on stage," a voice informed.

"I-I'll be right there," she stammered.

She found herself able to breathe once the footsteps were receding. She spun back around toward Erik to continue their preparations, but she gasped when she found he had disappeared just as mysteriously as he had revealed himself. She turned again to the front then. A deep breath followed, and she exited the dressing room.

She was very much alone as she made her way to the stage. Granted there were people running around in the hall beside her, but they paid her no attention. She had only her thoughts to keep her company again.

She loitered in one of the wings, as the production had already begun. Her eyes danced with the characters on stage, which seemed to calm her and carry her. It aided in putting her in the place of the character she was meant to play. She barely noticed when several assistants fell upon her to ensure her appearance.

There were still several pieces of the costume, merely decorations, which had to be pinned on. It was during this process when a figure looking very unlike the rest approached her. It was obvious by the way she moved and held herself that she wasn't one to normally work behind the scenes.

"La Carlotta," one of the seamstresses breathed. She backed away as the diva came forward, ripping one of the decorations from the other's grasp.

Carlotta smiled, though obviously strained and fake. She began to fit the piece into place on the costume. "Well I have to say that you certainly look the part," she hissed. "Whether or not you can sing it will be made known shortly."

Christine was still in intimidated silence. She had seen the famous singer earlier when the announcement had been made. It couldn't be said that Carlotta was an accepting woman. She had stormed out in a tantrum once she had learned she had been cut from the show. To have her here and now was very suspect and unsettling.

Carlotta's eyes darted to Christine's. "Don't tell me you don't have your voice, little one. You don't want to upset your audience. Every single one of them came here to hear you sing. You don't want to disappoint, now do you? And just think of all of the work everyone in this theater has done to bring this show together." She clucked her tongue. "It's an awful lot of people you'll be letting down."

Christine swallowed, finding her voice. "That is precisely why failure is not an option," she whispered defiantly.

Anger flashed across Carlotta's expression. There even seemed to be a hint of a threat there. "Good," she growled.

Christine felt a sharp prick as Carlotta shoved the pin into her skin beneath the garment. She was proud that she didn't gasp or react in any way. Still, the spot stung, and she was quite certain that there were probably a few drops of blood forming. Instead of responding in the negative, Christine smiled just as non-genuinely then proceeded into the middle of the stage.

The opera being a rather loose adaptation of a relatively new story titled _Frankenstein_, Christine had been forced into the role of Elizabeth Lavenza, the love interest of the main character Victor Frankenstein. It was her big introduction scene, and she performed it beautifully. Anyone in the audience who had had qualms regarding the new lead was convinced by the end of the song.

It set a good precedent for the rest of the show. By the end, much to La Carlotta's disappointment, all of the members of the audience were on their feet in a standing ovation. It was said that the composer had created yet another work of genius. "Yet another piece to live up to," some cynics might have said. Nonetheless, it was heartfelt and dark and realistic.

The biggest surprise and best part of the show, many witnesses said, was the up-and-coming songstress Christine Daaé. After a performance as she had put on, she was sure to be celebrated throughout Paris and beyond. Needless to say, hers was the only name on everyone's lips.

The show and Christine took the headlines in the papers. Those papers stretched across France and even extended beyond those borders. All of this occurred within the first few performances. Success basically occurred overnight. Very soon it would be seen to be a blessing and a curse. Because with all of the good there is bound to be some bad.


	12. A Face from the Past

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** As mentioned in a comment, I am indeed a big _Frankenstein_ fan. That was part of the reason I chose to have that as the opera Erik composed. Also, to clarify, Carlotta did just stick Christine with a pin to cause her physical harm, as Carlotta is not a very nice or understanding lady in this story. She is obviously very threatened by Christine.

So, if you haven't figured it out by the title, and if I am spoiling this for you then I am sorry, Raoul shows up in this chapter. He is a character very near and dear to my heart, especially the Steve Barton version of him. I love me some Raoul. I just wanted to note that I do make him out to be a bit of an overexcited schoolboy at first, but for this story I see that he might be a little nervous and whatnot when coming face-to-face with someone he hadn't seen in a while…who he may have had a crush on way back when…just something to ponder. ^.-

Just had to add, as well, that after finishing this chapter, I just realized how it may seem to some just how impatient Christine is for Raoul to show up at her dressing room. Trust me when I say she isn't expecting any sort of sexual thing to happen. Obviously in the time period of this story, that would not necessarily be the foremost thing on one's mind. Anyway, if it is read in that manner, I do apologize. She really just wants to see him again.

**Chapter 12 – A Face from the Past**

The dressing room smelled of flowers and nothing else. Every free surface contained a vase of some shape or size to house the plants. Christine had been receiving more and more each and every day since her debut. As time went on, the bouquets grew in size and variety. She really wasn't sure what to do with them all, but she certainly enjoyed the scent.

A number of performances later and Christine was still getting used to the publicity that had come with her headlining the opera. Each and every show had been sold out. The audience had been completely filled with people eager to hear her sing. It gladdened her that so many people showed up just for her. She felt as though she were actually making a difference in those lives.

The crew and cast had warmed quickly to her, as well, after seeing the success she brought them. Those not completely under La Carlotta's thumb proved to be very friendly and inviting. She had hoped that Meg would be included in those that had grown accustomed to her, but the little ballet dancer was still giving her the cold shoulder. Despite the deal Christine had attempted to strike with Erik to get her to perform on such little notice, he still hadn't introduced himself to Meg.

Christine finished up with her usual routine after the show. She had changed into her regular frock, making sure to hang up the costume where it wouldn't get ruined. Her clothing was a simple dress of cerulean with thin white stripes and matching lace around the collar and sleeves. She didn't have many to choose from and so had to recycle the ones she wore. She typically traveled back to the chateau with her hair still pinned in the style her final scene in the opera called for. It was the death scene of her character on the night after her wedding, so it meant that she could leave her hair long and loose, with a few artistic sweeps and curls here and there.

She swung a dark cloak over her shoulders, latching it at her throat, to stave off the chill that hung more and more in the air. She cast a swift glance about the room, to ensure she hadn't misplaced something amongst the flowers. Then she blew out the gas lamp and exited the dressing chamber.

It wasn't terribly late after the show. In fact, there were still some audience members loitering about, perhaps trying to catch a fleeting glance at their new favorite songstress as she left the building. Christine took the route backstage for as long as she could to avoid any overenthusiastic fans, until it spit her out in the entryway of the Opera Populaire. Erik had designated a spot out front for her to meet the carriage at. In fact, it was stationed out there when she emerged.

She made to head directly toward it when a young man stepped forward to block her path right at the doorway. Of course, she smiled politely, not wanting to upset anyone. Still, she knew that Erik would be upset with her if she lingered too long. She immediately tried to hurry things along and dismiss the fellow with as much grace and consideration as possible.

"Good evening," she greeted. "It seems you caught me just as I was leaving. You see, my carriage is already waiting for me outside."

"I shan't keep you long then, Christine," the young gentleman replied in his deep and charming voice.

She smiled even wider, grateful. "Thank you, monsieur. So what can I do for you?"

Apparently he found something humorous about what she had said, because in the next instant he chuckled aloud. She was at a loss, but decided it would be best to play along. Therefore, she didn't attempt to bypass him or step away. She stood patiently, still under a small umbrella of confusion.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he finally uttered, catching his breath. She shook her head dumbly, which caused his grin to grow. He took a step closer to her. "Think back to the little boy who went into the sea to rescue your pretty red scarf."

Christine laughed just as abruptly as he had. It took a minute for it to subside and she was finally able to engage in conversation again. "Raoul?" she questioned in disbelief. "Raoul de Chagny?"

He held his arms out. "The one and only."

"But…but it's been years." She was in quite a state of bewilderment that she could actually be face-to-face with the boy from her childhood.

"I know," he replied, beaming. It seemed that he suddenly remembered the small bouquet of roses he had clasped in one hand. He held it out for her to take, which she did rather dumbly. "These are for you. Of course, they probably don't compare to others you have received. You are quite a success now."

She looked down at the flowers, bringing them gently to her nose and sniffing their sweet fragrance. "Thank you, Raoul. They're lovely."

Raoul ran a hand through his short sandy hair in a rather awkward fashion. The excitement bubbling within him was difficult to contain. It made him forget how to properly behave. All he knew for certain was that his heart was racing faster than it had done in a long time, and that he had finally reunited with the girl who had gotten away.

"I saw your name in the headlines and, of course, all of the advertisements featuring you," he explained softer. "I have to say, you were phenomenal. I-I never knew, Christine."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I suppose I can't claim all of the credit. I do have a very good teacher."

"Well this teacher certainly is the best. Who is it, if I may ask?"

Christine shook her head, realizing she had just gone a step too far. "No one. At least, nobody you would know. It doesn't matter, I suppose," she said dismissively.

Raoul smiled, staring at her momentarily. It was still impossible to believe that she was standing before him, older and yet unchanged. Certainly she had discovered grace and poise in the years they had been apart, but she was still the same. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but mainly he simply wanted to scoop her up in his arms and hold her close.

"Well, it is getting quite late, isn't it?" Raoul glanced about him as if he suddenly recalled somewhere he had to be. "If it isn't too much of a bother, may I call upon you tomorrow after the show?"

Initially, a soft blush spread across her cheeks. She became very aware in that moment of just how handsome Raoul had become. She remembered a boy too skinny for his own good. But now, he was certainly able to fill out his suit nicely. He had sprouted, too, standing a few heads taller than her. She couldn't stop her head from nodding in the positive.

"Of course. It will be nice to catch up some more," she replied sweetly, innocently.

"Then it's a date. Tomorrow evening." He smiled dashingly. Then with a bow and lingering glances over his shoulder, he departed.

There was a large, satisfied grin on Christine's face that would not subside. She stuck her nose into the flowers and inhaled their perfume again. Stepping outside and toward the carriage, she forgot for a moment where she was headed to and who was waiting for her.

"Who was that, Christine?" Erik asked as she stepped up into the interior of the carriage.

She froze momentarily, as if caught red handed. "Who are you referring to?" She wasn't very good at playing the fool.

Erik rolled his eyes, though in the darkness it was impossible to tell. She slid onto the seat next to him, keeping her bouquet of flowers beside her, as far away from Erik as possible. "You know damn well who I am referring to," he hissed. "Who was that boy just now?"

"Oh, him?" she mused coyly. "Just a supporter, I presume."

Erik sat back, clearly dissatisfied. He knocked on the roof of the carriage and Joseph Buquet spurred the horses into motion. Though no words passed through his lips, it was quite evident that Erik was not in a good mood after hearing of her admirer. He seemed much colder than usual. Since their fated night, he had been distant. On the ride back, it felt as if he had retreated even more.

"I've noticed that you haven't shown yourself to Meg yet," she ventured cautiously. She didn't want to upset him more, but she needed to get to the bottom of his isolating tendencies. Also, she may have wanted him to be distracted while she met with Raoul the next evening.

"Should I have?"

"Well, I was hoping that you would take it into consideration since you forced me into this role without proper notice."

He whipped his head in her direction. "And look at how well you are doing."

She sighed exasperatedly. "Then think of it as…I don't know…a present for not failing you. Why can't you just introduce yourself to Meg? All she wants is to know who to thank for changing her life for the better."

Erik sat back again, brooding. "Will you stop pestering me if I do this one thing?"

Christine could feel herself winning. She suppressed a victorious smile and attempted to remain poised, as if nothing had changed. "If that is what you wish," she stated simply.

He grumbled. "Tomorrow. After the show. Then that is the last of it, you hear me?"

"Of course," she agreed.

Christine leaned back, satisfied, and looked out the carriage window at whatever passing landscape was visible through the darkness. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach whenever she thought of the next evening. She would remain impatient until she returned to the opera house to perform her role on stage—until that curtain closed at the very end of the opera. Mostly, she would find impatience in waiting to see Raoul again after the show, especially with the confirmation that there would be no interruption this time around.


	13. The Visitors

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** If anyone can recall, in the very first chapter of this story, I had mentioned very, very briefly that Christine had inherited her father's debts when he had died. Just keep that in mind for this chapter.

Secondly, some are curious as to why I love Raoul so much. How do I explain such a thing? Raoul is obviously the underdog. It is evident that there is no way he could ever best Erik because Erik is so much more intelligent and cunning. Despite Christine choosing Raoul at the end of the story, it is apparent that the incident and that Erik himself will always stay with her. Obviously one doesn't simply forget something like that. So even through it all, even though he gets the girl in the end, he ultimately never wins. People are so quick to throw him under the bus, it seems. Actually, he has to be quite a complicated character. You see Christine's reactions to everything and Erik's reactions to pretty much everything. But, Raoul has to remain composed and level-headed. Nobody knows what mysteries and emotions are lurking below the surface. That doesn't even explain it all, though! I am sure everyone will find this odd, but I simply cannot find the words to fully describe it. But, I could go on and on in an attempt and never fully explain myself. O.o;

Anyway, lastly I wanted to thank everyone again for the reviews and kind words. They are so greatly appreciated. I wanted to put a little warning that this chapter may be a little intense, for lack of a better word. I do apologize and hope that it isn't too much or in poor form.

**Chapter 13 – The Visitors**

Christine made sure that her performance was extra powerful and moving the next evening. Granted, she was always on point night after night. However, this show was different; because, she had something to look forward to afterward. She wanted to impress—to really shine. Yet, in the back of her mind, she knew that Erik would notice the added effort and become suspicious.

The ride back to the chateau the previous evening had carried with it more than just Christine and Erik. Suspicion and even jealousy seemed to be their traveling companions. There had been more silence than conversation. Still, it allowed her time to muse on her run in with Raoul, the boy from her past. She had never dreamed she would ever meet him again. Yet, here he was, and ready to call upon her that very evening.

She felt like a giddy schoolgirl for some reason, which she swiftly tried to dismiss. She would shake her head and invent excuses as to why she shouldn't be feeling the way she was feeling. The one that reared its head the most was that they had just now reunited. She didn't even know what kind of man he was.

She certainly knew what kind of man Erik was, though. Or at least she thought she did. He was the type that always overreacted in the negative. He held her accountable for mistakes she had committed in the past. He never listened to her side of the story or considered her feelings in any matter.

Then again, he had taken her under his wing when he didn't have to do anything of the sort. He had presented her with a fabulous opportunity. He had given her a new and better future. In that respect, he had shown her the same kindness and generosity that he had shown Meg. He could be considered unselfish in that way. But, he was so stubborn.

Regardless, thoughts of Erik were the farthest from her mind. When she sang that evening, she sang for Raoul. She performed for him. Her secrecy involving him was simply to spare Erik, whether from hurt feelings or annoyance. She considered that she also didn't want to have to explain one to the other. She could imagine how awkward and tense it could turn out to be.

During the show, she took whatever chance she could to glance about the audience in an attempt to locate her childhood friend. Granted she couldn't have gotten a really good look, but she believed she was unable to spot him. Unsettling as it was, she still managed to finish with as much flair as she so desired.

It was only afterward, back in her solitary dressing chamber, that she received the note from Raoul:

_My dearest Christine,_

_I was hardly able to sleep last night for anticipation of our meeting this evening. That is why with a heavy heart I must inform you that I was called away at the last minute due to a family emergency. Believe me when I tell you that it is in your presence I would much rather be. If you will allow, upon my return in a few days' time, it would delight me to be able to call on you again. Please do not feel the need to send along a response. I shall wait impatiently until the day I am able to lay eyes upon you again._

_Yours,_

_Raoul de Chagny_

She set the note back down upon the small pile of roses that had been sent along with it. Currently they occupied a small spot on her vanity that she had cleared the other mounds of flowers from. She leaned back in the small chair and sighed disappointedly. Her heart felt slightly broken, as if someone had taken a small chisel to it. Still, she figured she couldn't be too depressed about it. After all, they were simply two old friends just trying to catch up. There was nothing more than that.

There came a soft rap upon the door—three knocks in unison. She hadn't been expecting anybody else that evening, especially with Erik hopefully doing what he said he would and introducing himself to Meg. She paused for a moment, unsure of how exactly to proceed. Something in the back of her head seemed to be warning her. Yet, she had already changed out of her costume and didn't really have a good excuse not to answer the door. Truthfully, too, part of her was hoping that perhaps Raoul had returned from his trip early or hadn't even needed to go.

Christine pulled it open a crack and peered out at the caller. It wasn't him. "Yes?" she inquired innocently.

There were two men standing at her dressing chamber door. The taller of the two had a shock of short blonde hair. The other had longer raven locks and a tanned face. He appeared to be a foreigner to France. They wore very neat dark suits. Yet, in all of their simplicity, they intimidated her.

It was the taller of the two that spoke. She assumed that the shorter was the strong silent type. "Sorry to disturb you, mademoiselle. I know it must be rather strange to see us standing here at this hour." It had been a couple of hours since the end of the show. "Are you Mademoiselle Daaé?"

"Yes, I am." She offered a small, half-hearted smile, thinking that perhaps they were fans looking to meet her. It wouldn't have been the first time they had shown up at her door. "Can I help you with something?"

"I think so," the blonde said darker than he previously had. It unnerved her enough to start to slowly close the door, but he was quick. He stuck his arm out, preventing any further movement of it. "May we come in?"

She stepped back, her heart pounding, simply because she couldn't refuse. After all, he basically had his foot in the door anyway and she wasn't strong enough to overpower him. He moved inside, his partner following then closing the door behind them. She was certain the fear showed on her face and in her body language, but still they didn't relent.

Seemingly uncharacteristically, though, the blonde adopted a friendlier tone and acted as if they had just committed a terrible faux pas. "Oh, how incredibly rude of us. Where are my manners? My name is Philippe. This here is my friend Nadir."

Christine didn't know how to respond. Instead, she was confused and even more concerned. While the taller gentleman was alarming in his eccentricity, the other was just as so in his silence. She remained defensive, backing away from them as slowly as possible so as not to alarm them.

"Though we thoroughly enjoyed the show," Philippe, the blonde, continued, "we've actually come here on business."

"Business?" she squeaked dumbly.

"Yes. You see, we're here to collect on the debts your late father owed." He shrugged. "I suppose he passed those onto you."

"H-How did you find me?" she stammered. Her mind was frantic and that was the first question that seemed to come out. Admittedly, she had tried to run away from them and her aunt had offered her a very good hiding place.

Philippe chuckled. "Mademoiselle, your name is everywhere these days. Trust me, it wasn't hard." His wide grin disappeared as bluntly as it had emerged. "So now this is the part where you pay us."

Christine noticed Nadir behind him stretching his fingers and cracking his knuckles, very stereotypically. She swallowed hard, mustering up her courage. She stood taller, straightening her posture and attempting to appear intimidating. Sadly, she seemed just as intimidating as a kitten would to a mountain lion. Her arms fell to her sides with her fists clenched.

"I-I am sorry," she said, her voice wavering, "but I do not have what you are looking for. I would be more than happy to get you what you want, but you will have to wait."

Philippe swung his arm violently, knocking over a few vases and sending them crashing and breaking across the floor. It made her jump and her courage to shrivel up. "Unfortunately that is no longer an option," he hissed. "You see, we have been waiting long enough. We are very impatient men. Either you have it or you don't. And, since you have already admitted that you don't, I suppose we will have to find a way to inspire you to get us our money."

"Wait-" was as far as she was able to get.

Philippe snapped his fingers and suddenly, startlingly fast, Nadir was upon her. He swung a heavy hand at her, knocking her in the cheek and sending her spiraling. Christine fell back, sliding across the floor. It took her a few minutes before she could see straight again, and once that was reestablished, she felt the pain.

Her cheek burned like a thousand little needles. She brought her hand up to grasp at the spot where he had hit her, hoping it would quell the throbbing. Instead, the pain ignited when she touched it. She winced, turning her gaze slowly up to her attackers. Her vision was distorted from the tears the filled her eyes. Philippe stood as if nothing had happened and Nadir had managed to fade into the background again.

Philippe clucked his tongue, shaking his head slowly. "Nadir, we don't want to ruin her pretty face now, do we?" he mockingly chastised. "I do apologize, Mademoiselle Daaé. Honestly, he is impossible to control."

Christine didn't respond.

He stretched a hand out for her to take. "Please, let me help you up."

She clenched her teeth stubbornly, biting through the pain that flared up. She stared at his hand in disgust. It wasn't even an option. Instead, she turned onto her hands and knees and climbed carefully to her feet. Her movements were very slow and very gentle. Her entire body was shaking uncontrollably. Once up, she glared at him with an intense fire.

"Hmm, I see that the little mademoiselle has some fight left in her yet," he commented, retracting his hand.

"There is still a lot more where that came from, too," she grumbled, her lip trembling. She realized even before she had said it that it would lead to some unsavory consequences.

Philippe raised an eyebrow. "I suppose I could say the same thing," he growled. Without taking his eyes off of her, he directed his next statement to his partner. "Nadir, try to avoid her face this time. I'm sure you can think of other ways to persuade her."

xXx

Erik released an exasperated sigh. He couldn't say exactly how long he had been waiting in that damn carriage for Christine to emerge. It was certainly the latest she had ever been. He had done as she had asked, though he still wasn't completely sure why. He figured that at least it would ensure that she would stop pestering him about formally meeting Meg.

It had gone over about as awkward and uncomfortable as he had imagined. The entire time she had been itching to remove herself from the encounter. That much had been obvious from her body language. He had granted her wish, not keeping her longer than was necessary to exchange greetings and identities. Then he had ensured that she had what fare she needed to hire a carriage to deliver her safely to the chateau and let her be on her way.

That had been more than two hours ago.

He stared out of the carriage window at the grand opera house. It appeared lonely and abandoned without the proper lighting and crowds. It didn't seem that anyone could even be left inside, but sure enough someone had to be.

She was getting distracted, carried away. The fame was going to her head. Even Erik had been unprepared for just how much the public loved her. He had reminded her again and again to not give into such trivial things. Yet, he was unconvinced that she was even listening to him anymore. After all, he had seen how she had behaved with one of her many admirers.

A thought crossed his mind at that idea, and he was quite surprised that it hadn't occurred to him earlier. "She's with him," he whispered to the darkness.

Slowly his mind put the pieces in place. She had set up his meeting with Meg this evening because she had arranged something with that young man from the night before. She had deliberately tried to get him out of the way, and it had worked to a point. Now that he had found it all out, though, she had better believe that he wasn't about to let it go.

Erik stepped out of the carriage, slamming the door shut behind him. "You stay here," he ordered Joseph Buquet, pointing a threatening finger at the man.

There was no retort from the driver. He knew better than to talk back. Instead, he disappeared further into his cloak and adjusted his seat to make himself more comfortable.

Erik stormed into the Opera Populaire with a plan already in mind. He would not alert her to his presence. He would allow her to continue in her affair and obtain proof of her secret all on his own. For, what she didn't know was that he had his ways of checking in on her.

He wound his way through the hidden corridors, until he found that the entrance through her mirror lay at the end of a single hallway. As he stomped toward it, images of what he would discover flashed through his mind. He envisioned her with the younger man engaged in some deep connecting conversation. Perhaps they would be embracing, holding each other close. He imagined them even in the throes of passion. He mentally reprimanded himself for having introduced her into the public eye. If it hadn't been for him then they never would have united. Either way, she wasn't the young woman he had thought she was.

Erik came upon the mirror. From inside the dressing room it would appear as a normal floor-length mirror, but on his side it was more like a window. He had come to her before that very first performance this same exact way. When he looked through the window this time, the scene appeared much different.

Practically every vase that held the flowers from adoring supporters were broken—shattered and strewn about the place. The chair for the vanity was tipped over. The divan had been knocked back, as well. All in all, the room was a disaster site.

Through it all, causing him the most alarm, he spotted a small body crumpled up at the base of the dressing room door.

Erik nearly jumped through the mirror. He rushed to the bundle across the room and slid to its side. Instantly he recognized Christine.

"Christine?" He hesitatingly put his hands on her, partially to rouse her and partially to ensure that she was still alive. He was so afraid of hurting her more, though.

Her dress had been ripped in several places and it was evident that the glass littering the floor had left its mark on her. When he was finally able to smooth the hair from her face, he saw the bruise and cut on her cheek and the finger marks on her neck.

"Christine?" he whispered again.

She didn't respond. Her eyes remained closed. She was out cold.

He shook his head in disbelief. "Christine, what happened here? What happened to you?" He knew that she couldn't respond, but he had to voice it anyway.

Very gently and very carefully, Erik scooped Christine up into his arms. He very much kicked down the dressing room door in order to take a much more direct route to his carriage outside. He cradled her close, taking his time so as not to jostle her too much.

He was surprised at how light she seemed, how lifeless. But she had fought and she had survived. He was proud of her. Whatever had happened she had fought back.

Though it was the closest they had ever been to each other, it wasn't a situation where Erik could fully enjoy their proximity. Her warmth relieved him. It meant that she was still with him. He had been so frightened when he had initially spied her laying there that he thought tears would have come pouring out. But, otherwise, he was angry. No, he wasn't just angry. He was furious. He was wrathful. He would find out who had done this. He would hunt them down. Then he would make them pay for their crime.

And, for Erik, he would not accept anything less than their lives.


	14. Reflections

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** It made me laugh at how many of you brought up Philippe and Nadir. I was tempted to write a post-chapter note on the names I have been using throughout the story last chapter. Honestly, I pretty much choose them at random. However, there are a couple, like Philippe and Nadir, that I envision the characters and their names fitting certain roles. I fairly knew that there probably wouldn't be any room to introduce a brother for Raoul, so I stole him for one of the debt collectors. Pretty much the same with Nadir. If that makes any sense…So, as far as things go for now, they do not necessarily tie into anybody else's pasts or stories. But, who knows? That could change…

One last thing to add, I didn't realize how cheesy this chapter might seem to people. I feel like I am really bad at fluff, but I tend to fall into it quite easily…or something? So I apologize if this is a little much.

**Chapter 14 – Reflections**

Christine groggily opened her eyes to discover she was in a place she didn't recognize. The room was dim, with only a single candle burning, which aided in keeping the pounding in her head at a minimum. It also made it more difficult for her to determine whether it was morning or night. On that note, she couldn't even say for sure what day it happened to be. She didn't know how long she had been out for or how she had even gotten to this foreign place. The last thing she remembered was her dressing room spinning in front of her vision and two men looming over her. Then she had blacked out.

A door opened softly off to one side. She turned her head in the direction of the noise, but even that gentle movement caused a bolt of pain to shoot through her neck and across her vision. She winced, immediately falling still.

"Don't move," a voice ordered gruffly, but softly. "You will still find yourself in a lot of pain."

"Yes, I think I found that out the hard way," she croaked.

Her own voice startled her. It was gravelly and rough. She couldn't even recognize it. Her throat was dry and scratchy when she spoke. It felt tight, as well, like it didn't want to give properly for her to vocalize. She had never known it to be so irritated before.

"I think it would be best if you didn't speak, as well," the same voice offered.

Christine shifted enough to be able to see who it was that was speaking to her. As soon as her gaze landed on Erik, she recognized where she was. She had somehow ended up in his room, in his bed! She could feel the silk sheets against her skin now, suddenly aware that her skin was exposed at all. She couldn't even determine how much skin, which was rather unsettling. But these concerns were fleeting.

All of this understanding occurred within seconds of his arrival. Beyond that, upon first sight of him, she was overcome with the greatest relief. But her memory of the event that had left her in this condition also came flooding back, bringing with it all of the fear and anger. She couldn't understand why, since Erik had not been present at all. In any case, it hit her so hard that her eyes immediately filled with tears. Even though she was still in some disbelief over it having ever occurred, her body surely felt and acted as if it was real.

Erik leaned over and wiped some tears from her cheek. "That's enough of that," he comforted. "You're safe now."

And she believed him, too. Even so, her body continued to tremor. It was her shot nerves that wouldn't let her lay still. It caused so much pain to flare up nearly everywhere. She managed to ignore that as much as possible, or at least tolerate it.

Erik pushed the pillows up behind her, assisting her into a sort of sitting position. His movements made it obvious at just how delicate she was and how much he feared paining her even more. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and eased onto it. "Do you feel up to having some soup?"

She hadn't even noticed the tray he had brought in. He lifted it up to balance on the edge of the mattress. It contained a bowl of soup and all of the workings for tea. She felt touched that he was going to the lengths of caring for her and looking after her. She was sure that it wasn't easy for him. She nodded slightly, unable to avoid the backlash of that motion, but smiled gratefully.

Erik leaned in, poising the spoon over the bowl until he could safely pour the warm soup into her mouth. She wanted to so much ask him about what had happened and how he had found her. She wanted to know how she had gotten to his room, how much time had passed, and where they now stood. She didn't have to attempt to voice these questions, though. It was as if he read her mind and anticipated what she was wondering.

"You have been unconscious all through the night and into the morning. It is now the afternoon. The…incident occurred last night," he explained. It was evident in his tone that he was still sour over it, as well. He obviously didn't like talking about it, but he obliged her anyway.

He brought another spoonful of soup to her. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. Actually, her pain seemed to mask it. Not to mention she still felt completely exhausted, despite having slept through the entire night and much of the day. She supposed that one couldn't necessarily call it sleeping, though.

"You should be careful," she murmured, attempting to be as gentle on her throat as possible, "a girl could get used to this."

Erik actually cracked a genuine smile and chuckled a bit. It was hard to think that such a thing could be accomplished in the wake of a terrible event. Still, Christine was able to appreciate it. The moment was brief. Then Erik was all seriousness again.

"You should really rest your throat, though, Christine," he told her softly, preparing another spoonful. "You don't want to strain it any more than it already is."

There was a pause. As Erik fed her again, his eyes inadvertently traveled to the bruises on her exposed neck. She watched him, as he had watched her before. When he leaned back in his chair she noticed the distress and sadness on his face.

"Erik," she whispered, half trying to appease him and half for her own sake, "what happened to me?"

With the utmost sincerity, he entreated, "I was hoping you would tell me."

She shook her head, tears returning to her dark eyes. "I wish I knew," she admitted. "All I can recall is two men forcing their way into my dressing chamber and then blackness."

Erik swallowed. "I discovered your unconscious body blocking the door. I brought you back here so that I could watch over your progress. Madame Giry has been kind enough to assist and keep everything under tight secrecy."

"I was rather curious about that," she admitted.

Erik shook his head in frustration, getting rather heated. "If only you knew the identities of those men. I can't let them get away with this."

"They claimed to have sought me out to collect on some debts."

Erik paused. He blinked incredulously. "Christine, do you owe people money?"

She shook her head nonchalantly, easing his mind. "Not me. My father ran into some debt, and after he died, I suppose it fell to me to pay those back." She sighed, exhausted. "We were penniless. I had no way of giving them what they want. I still don't."

She appeared so small and helpless as she stared at him, her eyes growing larger by the second. She had a way of portraying innocence quite naturally. He couldn't help but feel the want to protect her—to shield her from all of the pain the world had to offer. He had never felt so compelled before.

"I fear that if I don't come up with something, they will kill me," she confessed.

Erik was quick to respond. He grasped her hand forcefully, yet softly. "I would never allow that to happen."

She searched his eyes. "I believe you, and I am very grateful to you…to all of you," she added swiftly at the end.

Then she seemed to become despondent. She turned her head in the opposite direction, preferring to stare at the wall for some time. Though they were right next to each other, it suddenly seemed like they were miles apart. He became worried that perhaps he was losing her. He sat back in his seat, removing himself from her, as well. He chose to pretend to find a distraction by stirring the soup.

"I still have a performance tonight," she mused aloud, randomly.

"Actually," Erik cleared his throat, "I took the liberty of writing to the managers and informing them that you will be absent until otherwise notified. Though she won't even be able to compare to you, La Carlotta will be performing the role in your stead."

Christine sighed, closing her eyes softly. She wasn't terribly thrilled about the replacement or the fact that she would have to miss it in the first place, but she was still willing to trust him on this and let him make the arrangements. She could tell that Erik was taking the whole incident hard, but whatever he was feeling toward it, she felt ten times more. Not only was she physically drained and emotionally drained, but it also interfered with the opportunity that had been given to her. She was attempting to be civil about the whole thing, but it was difficult. It was very difficult.

Erik allowed her to process this for a moment then found his opportunity to add to the information he had just given her. He knew that this was going to be even more upsetting and concerning for her. "Christine," he started carefully, "I don't know the extent of the injury to your throat. When you are feeling stronger, we can test your voice and see exactly what damage they might have caused."

She didn't show any physical sign that she had heard what he had said. Yet, he was sure. Her eyes remained closed and her body remained still. Then a single tear broke free and rolled down her cheek.

Erik stood, taking the tray with him, and he set it over on some clear space on the vanity. "I should let you get some sleep," he informed. His gaze lingered on her momentarily, but then he strode toward the door. He had his hand on the doorknob, had just swung it open, when she stopped him in his tracks.

"One more thing," she called. Despite how quiet it was, it still held the ability to break through to him.

He turned in her direction. "Yes?" he breathed.

She stared up at him, but her face was completely unreadable. The tears were gone. Acceptance must have taken their place. "You said before that you found me against the chamber door."

"Yes," he said again. "That's right." He wasn't quite sure where this was going, but something in his gut didn't like it one bit.

"If I was huddled against it, how did you manage to get in?" Christine questioned innocently.

Erik didn't know how to answer at first. He hadn't expected her to catch that in their conversation. In fact, he hadn't even realized what he had said. He knew that he couldn't tell her anything about the mirror just yet. She was still much too fragile. He could only imagine how angry she would be and what sorts of ideas would pop into her head.

"That's not important right now. I found you. That's all you need to know. And now, you are safe." He didn't like the idea of skirting around the answer, but he had little other options before him. He didn't want to deceive her, he had decided. It was no longer an option for him. But, he had to look out for whatever was in the best interest for her in that moment. And in that moment, the truth was not.

Christine watched him depart and close the door quietly behind him. She waited to hear his footsteps retreat. She curled back the blankets from her body, each movement agony. Yet, she was determined. Very, very carefully, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was relieved to find that she was in her old, tattered nightgown and that she wasn't free of all clothing. That would have been awkward and inappropriate.

She eased herself onto her feet, testing her legs before putting her full weight on them to ensure she wouldn't topple over. She shuffled to the vanity, supporting herself on the surrounding furniture. Again, pain encompassed her entire body, but she was determined enough to bite through it to reach her destination.

She leaned against the vanity upon reaching it. She looked into the mirror, which was completely uncovered at that point. Despite only the one flame, she was still able to make out her reflection. Her heartbeat quickened at what she saw and she had to clench her teeth to prevent herself from sobbing.

The cheekbone on the left side of her face was a massive bruise with a small horizontal cut running through it. Her bottom lip had been split on the same side; and, it appeared that only that half was swelling slightly above normal. It gave her an eerie look.

Her gaze traveled down to her neck where there were distinct finger-shaped bruises. This seemed to be a little harder to take. Tears fell silently down her cheeks. She hadn't realized how bad she actually looked. And, that was only her face, let alone what covered the rest of her body.

The anger bubbled up in her. She felt violated, as she should, and a complete wreck. She realized that there was no way for her to behave civilly toward such an event, since the event itself was anything but civil. There hadn't been a single time in her life before that moment that she had ever expected or imagined anything of this nature would happen. She had always been so strong. She certainly didn't feel that way anymore.

In that respect, she had to admit, the men won.

Christine found the dark cloth lying at the base of the mirror. She picked it up and delicately placed it over the reflective glass. Sometimes it was best to leave these things masked.


	15. Secrets

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** So we are moving things along with this chapter. I hope to be finishing things up here shortly. I don't expect to go beyond a 20th chapter, just to give everyone a head's up. I don't know that there will be a terribly dramatic conclusion, but I hope to make it satisfying. Anyway, as things are drawing to a close, any sorts of ideas on how to properly tie things up would be welcomed. Thank you again and please stay tuned. ^.-

**Chapter 15 – Secrets**

Raoul loitered awkwardly in the back hallway of the Opera Populaire with nothing but a large bouquet of red roses and a little letter. He held the letter opened and continuously glanced down at it as if confirming a time or date or location. Luckily it was still early, so there were only a few crew members about, preparing for the evening's opera. Otherwise, he would have felt more out of place than he already did.

"Raoul," a voice called from the hallway behind him.

He spun around toward the addresser. Christine glided down the corridor toward him, casual, yet determined. His gaze soaked in her entire appearance. She had on a simple white blouse and forest green skirt. Her cloak billowed behind her, tied at her neck. Though they had been apart already for a number of years, the two weeks that had passed since the last time he had laid eyes on her had been brutal.

She approached him smiling. He took her hands in his. "Christine, the day I got to see you again could not come soon enough," he greeted, handing over the bouquet.

"You're sweet," she answered, not quite knowing what else to say. She buried her face in the flowers to hide the blush that crept along her cheeks.

He leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek, but she moved backward before it ever landed. An awkward pause passed between them, where she instantly regretted what she had done.

"I-I'm sorry," Raoul stammered, remembering himself. "I didn't mean-"

Christine came to the rescue. "Please, you have no need to apologize. It's just been a bit of a tough time, that's all. Let's make ourselves more comfortable, though, shall we?" She proceeded to open her dressing room door.

"I must have forgotten," he exclaimed. "You certainly don't look like you are or ever have been ill."

Christine pushed the door open. The dressing room had certainly been cleaned up since last she saw it. She could only imagine the disaster scene that met whoever had gone in the next day. Even now she paused within the doorway, hesitant to even step foot within for the history it held.

It had taken just under a week for her to regain her full strength. After that, it had been all about testing and training her voice again. This time, it was on overload. She had been much more determined to see it back to its full potential as soon as possible. Meg, who had been very grateful to her for making Erik introduce himself, though completely underwhelmed by what she had discovered, had been kind enough to deliver letters back and forth at the opera house. Really they had only been to Raoul and it had only been a few times. She had invented an illness that kept her away. She couldn't very well tell him exactly what had occurred. It corresponded with the excuse Erik had given the managers for her absence.

Christine stared into the dressing chamber. The shadows housed within were haunting and threatening. Her heart pounded faster. Raoul, misjudging the situation, eased past her and into the darkness.

"Allow me," he offered, striking up the lamp within.

Immediately light flooded the room, pushing back the shadows and darkness. It cast a very different impression upon the chamber. After taking a deep breath, she dove inside. She wandered about after placing the roses down, familiarizing herself with everything again, as Raoul sat on the divan across from the vanity.

"The show simply hasn't been the same without you," Raoul prattled on. "At first it was merely La Carlotta's fame and reputation that kept the crowds coming in. Soon enough, though, the audience began to thin. I expect that the performances are sold out through the end of the week with the announcement of you coming back to the stage."

She smiled softly, moving from one end of the room to the other. She had certainly heard everything he had said, but her mind was still preoccupied. It still took great energy for her to not have a nervous breakdown being in the same room the incident had occurred in.

Raoul noticed that she appeared distracted and pensive. Obviously his idle chit-chat was not the most stimulating of conversation topics. He leaned back, releasing a relaxing sigh. He couldn't take his eyes off of her as she delicately touched every little surface, as if studying all of the furniture and reconnecting with it. He smiled pleasantly.

"Do you remember our time by the sea?" he posed.

"Of course," she encouraged. "How could I forget?" She glanced over her shoulder at him. "It is quite possibly one of my fondest memories."

He immediately scooted to the edge of his seat, enthralled. He had been hoping she would say something of the sort. "I want to know everything about you, Christine."

"There's really nothing to tell. I am afraid you might be bored," she said truthfully.

"Never." He paused. "It seems that you found your calling."

"In actuality, it found me."

He stood, moving to her side. "How do you mean?"

Christine turned to face him, a gleam in her eye. "My life wasn't much, Raoul. It was just my father and me until a few months ago. Then he died, and I was given an opportunity that would have never presented itself otherwise."

"I am so sorry to learn of your father," he comforted, backtracking. He touched her arm softly. "I know you two were close."

She nodded, accepting his condolences. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"Now, please, you were saying about this opportunity…"

"Yes. I found myself in a world so unlike the only one I had ever known." Her eyes glazed over as she was transported to another time and place. "I was granted the chance to shine—to be someone that I could have never been before. It isn't because of God. It is all because of a mortal man." She regained the present, actually seeing him again. "He is my savior, Raoul. I owe him everything."

"Well, if he is the one that ultimately brought us together again, then I owe him everything as well," Raoul said quietly.

He moved in closer, brushing her hair away from her face. That was when he saw it. The small cut was still in the process of completely healing. It was evident that she had attempted to cover it up, but with his close proximity, it was very difficult to accomplish. He was immediately alarmed, growing serious and angry.

"Christine, what is this?" he questioned.

Immediately she spun away, brushing her hair back over the side of her face. "It's nothing," she insisted.

The last thing she wanted to do was tell him all about what had happened to her. She didn't need him judging her or worse, pitying her. She didn't have the patience for that. So it was easier to pretend like nothing had happened. Or at least to stick to the story that she had merely been inflicted with a sudden illness.

"'Nothing?'" Raoul repeated incredulously. "Can we owe that to your savior, as well?"

He was growing mean. He knew that. But he was frustrated that she didn't trust him enough to tell him the truth. All he wanted to do was help her. Yet, she was pushing back with every ounce of energy she had. He just wished she could let him protect her and care for her.

Christine turned on him, furiously. "Don't you dare imply anything of the sort ever again!" she warned.

"What else am I supposed to think, Christine?" he shot back, just trying to find some understanding.

"How about you leave it alone? Why speculate on something you know nothing about?" She huffed heatedly. "I didn't ask for your input in my life. I didn't ask you for anything."

"That's right," he agreed, rather hurt, "you didn't ask me for anything. I'm sorry I tried to help. I'm sorry I even cared."

Christine shook her head. She shut her eyes tightly and rubbed the bridge of her nose, regretting that she ever got so defensive. "No, Raoul, I'm sorry," she said, much calmer. "I didn't mean to-"

"Please, Christine," he interrupted, "you don't have to explain. I think it would be best if I just go."

"I didn't mean for you to feel unwanted," she tried, but the damage was already done.

"It's your first day back, and you are feeling nervous and anxious and all sorts of things. It really would be better if I left you to prepare alone," he insisted again.

She nodded sadly. "I suppose you're right."

He stopped with the dressing room door opened, loitering for one last moment. He glanced back at her. "May I still see you after the show this evening?"

She smiled, grateful and pleased. "Of course, Raoul."

He returned the expression then departed, closing the door softly behind him.

Once he had disappeared, Christine released an exhausted sigh and fell into the vanity chair. Her emotions were running wild. She realized she couldn't even trust herself anymore. She was still feeling raw from the incident. She didn't know if she would ever be fully healed.

When she had said she owed Erik everything, she had been speaking the truth. She had initially been in his debt for realizing the talent in her voice and getting her noticed. But then he had rescued her and cared for her. She couldn't let anyone tarnish his name, not ever.

She just couldn't believe how defensive she had gotten. Especially with Raoul. From the moment they had reunited, her heart had fluttered at the very thought of him. She could see a potential future with him. It seemed only natural. Yet, when it came to one over the other, she had evidently chosen Erik.

Christine stood up, knocking the chair back. "It's just not possible," she mused aloud, chuckling rather incredulously.

She stared down at the bouquet that Raoul had so thoughtfully brought. She placed a hand on it, lingering. Her heart beat faster and she felt some sadness and some regret. She picked the roses up and brought them to her face, taking in their scent again. Then she released a sound of disgust and tossed them back atop her vanity.

To take her mind off of things, Christine decided to prepare for a small dress rehearsal that had been scheduled before the actual show that night due to her return. She went over to where the costume was hanging beside the full length mirror. She put one hand out against the mirror to balance herself as she worked to take off her shoes.

Unexpectedly the mirror shifted, nearly causing her to tumble to the ground. She caught herself after stumbling a step or two. She took a couple of deep breaths before she straightened up to discover what had happened.

She gasped, her hand jumping up to cover her mouth. The mirror had shifted slightly, but enough for her to see a corridor behind it. She moved toward it, cautiously. She wasn't so concerned with the outside of it—the part she could see and had seen many times before. It was the other side that caught her attention.

It wasn't a reflective surface like the one facing the dressing room. It was more of a window. She realized that if someone stood within that secret passageway and stared through that part of the mirror, it would be like looking straight into the chamber.

Her mind worked quickly. At first she was aghast that such a thing existed where she had been dressing and undressing numerous times. But then her mind traveled beyond that. She thought of Erik and his miraculous rescue of her and how he had yet to disclose how he had managed to reach her. Then there simply seemed utter betrayal.


	16. A Step Behind

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** So time is going to be passing a little quickly in these next couple chapters. I do apologize about that if it upsets anyone. There is really nothing to say about what occurs in between, though. Life continues as normal, basically. Not to mention the time gap allows for things to get done, which will hopefully become apparent here.

**Chapter 16 – A Step Behind**

"Let's hold a gala," Erik mused aloud. His back was to the room, while he stared out the window, and his hands were grasped behind him. "Or better yet, a masquerade."

"Excuse me?" Christine said, thinking that perhaps she hadn't heard him correctly.

Erik pivoted around slowly. "Your birthday is coming up shortly, I believe. Wouldn't a masquerade be entertaining?"

She shrugged, less enthralled than she had initially been. "It's not as if I know anybody, anyway. What's the point?"

"Then we could invite your fans. We could double it as a celebration of your accomplishment in the theater," Erik modified.

He looked to her expectantly, but didn't receive the type of reaction he was hoping for. He had been trying for days to rouse her from the slump she had fallen into. She had grown very despondent and distant, especially with him. And, of course, she didn't have any sort of explanation for him. Granted, he wasn't one to get overly concerned over someone's behavior. But Christine did seem to be the exception to a lot of his previous practices and behaviors. He just couldn't figure out what was on her mind.

She turned away, wrapping her arms around herself. "Do what you like. It makes no difference to me." She slid down into one of the empty chairs, appearing to lose interest.

"Is there something on your mind, Christine?" he demanded. "You've been acting like this for days now. It is quite distracting."

She shrugged. "Well, there has been something weighing on my mind for a while now."

"Please, have out with it."

"You still haven't told me how you were able to find me, Erik," Christine stated with resentment.

"Why does it mean so much to you? All that matters is that you're-"

"-safe and well," she finished for him. She stood and whirled around to face him in one fluid motion. "You've said so more times than I can count now."

He held his hands up, frustrated, as if to show her that they were empty and he had nothing left to give her. "Then what is the issue?"

"The issue is that perhaps I do not feel so safe anymore," she answered with the utmost sincerity. "Please, I need to hear it from your lips. How did you gain access to the dressing chamber?"

Erik had realized that it was futile to skirt around the subject anymore. He saw the hurt and the caution in Christine's eyes, and he knew he was in trouble. He realized that she had to have somehow figured out the mirror. It was a much more difficult situation her discovering it rather than him telling her. It put him one step behind. He simply could not win this one.

He sighed, finding a seat without ever taking his eyes from her. There would never be a good time to tell her, so he figured he might as well stop putting it off. "There is a secret passageway behind the mirror in the dressing room. The mirror is set up to act as a window into the room only on the one side."

"And you never thought to inform me of this?" she asked incredulously. "Instead you practically force me into this room of my own, and for what? For some sort of sick pleasure?"

"It was my way of being able to protect and watch over you," he insisted.

"No," Christine shot back, taking a couple of heated steps toward him, "it was your way of spying on me."

Erik got slowly to his feet, ready to fight for forgiveness. "Christine-" But he should have known that it wouldn't be that easy.

She interrupted him again. "I don't want to hear your empty excuses. How do I know what your intentions were and are with that mirror? How do I know that you hadn't set this up from the very beginning?"

He shrugged. "You'll just have to trust me."

He knew it sounded rather pathetic, but there really wasn't any other option. He couldn't go back in time and fix his mistake or prove to her that he hadn't abused his access to the mirror. In fact, he rather thought that she should be more grateful. After all, it was only because of that mirror that he was able to get to her, that he was able to save her. But he could see how she might view it as her privacy being encroached upon.

"How am I supposed to trust you now?" she asked quietly. The pain was starting to overshadow the anger.

Erik shook his head, unable to find an answer when he so desperately needed one. "You can't," he breathed sadly.

Christine nodded and moved slowly to the window. She stared out, hardly seeing. She was much more concerned about what was occurring inside rather than outside. It pained her to think that everything she had known since moving into the chateau had been set up for some more sinister purpose. She couldn't bring herself to fully believe it, but there was no other explanation. She hated that it had come to this.

"Am I to believe also that your generosity has been a lie?" she posed. "Everything that you have done for me is tainted by the secret that you had kept from me."

Erik moved over to her, hovering just behind her. He wanted to comfort her, but that was the last thing she would accept from him at that time. The words she was saying hurt him to his core. Yet, he understood that she saw his imprudence as a sign of betrayal. He knew this because that was how he would see the situation if reversed.

"Please, Christine, you mustn't think like that," he pleaded. "Everything I have offered you has been genuine. Don't think that there has ever been any ulterior motive. I would never do such a thing to you. You must believe me."

He hesitated, his hand hovering above her shoulder. She gave no sign of acknowledgement, but he knew she had heard him. Finally, he let his hand fall gently onto her shoulder, comfortingly. She didn't respond, at least not in a preferable manner. In fact, she startled slightly at his touch, as if she wanted to recoil, but thought better of it.

Erik removed himself from her immediate presence once he realized she wouldn't be giving him any sort of indication or reply. He walked to the piano, trying to find comfort from the previous times they had spent together there. In actuality, he was attempting to find a distraction. Or at least a means of diversion.

He instantly returned to the idea of throwing a soiree for her. Part of him really believed that the thought behind it could reach Christine. "I think it would do you good to be amongst other people. It would do us all good. A masquerade is our only option." He shrugged. "Who knows? It may prove to be quite entertaining." He paused, not hearing anything from her end.

When he glanced over his shoulder to where she had been standing, the spot was empty. She had disappeared from the room without making a sound.

xXx

As the staff sat around the simple table with their supper, there was very light conversation, mostly on Madame Giry's part, about some trivial things that had happened during the day. Everyone had seemed rather surprised to see Christine joining them that evening, since she typically found other means for her nighttime meal as of late. Whether it was eating at the theater or just after a show, or having something sent up to partake of in between voice lessons, she had always managed to compensate for her lack of being at the staff dinner table.

That evening was different, though. A performance hadn't been scheduled for that evening, and she was still too upset with Erik to keep him company. Madame Giry's prattle was merely background noise for her. She stared down at the slab of meat on her plate and its side dishes, poking at them more so than actually eating them. When she did have a bite, she barely tasted it.

"So next time, Monsieur Lefèvre, it would be most appropriate if your female guests exit out the back," Madame GIry had just finished instructing. Then she added, "Or if you simply do not conduct your business here in the first place."

Just at that moment, a dark figure walked into the room. Madame Giry and all of the gentlemen stood instantly. Despite some never having seen the master, it was quite clear who it was. There was nobody else it could be.

"Please, have a seat," Erik said gruffly.

Christine peered at him. Her surprise at seeing him there overshadowed the other feelings she had toward him. She was rather impressed that he hadn't taken any greater measures in disguising his face. He merely wore the plain white mask on its usual side. He was uncomfortable, that much was certain. He didn't stand at his usual height, but shifted his weight from one side to the other. His eyes darted onto Christine when he first came into the room, but now had shifted back to the entire group.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Master Erik?" Madame Giry asked politely, sliding back into her chair. She was the last to do so, obviously thinking it inappropriate when Erik was still standing around.

"Actually, I have an announcement for you all," he prefaced. He cleared his throat. "In ten days, we will be hosting a masquerade."

Christine felt Meg shift excitedly in her seat. It was rare that one would get to experience a party at this particular chateau. She could feel the anticipation in the air thicken. She seemed to be the only one not taken in by Erik's announcement.

"I have already decided to go with an outside company to cater and work the event, so that all of you can simply enjoy yourselves," he continued. "Until that time, however, I will need assistance cleaning this place up and getting it ready."

"Monsieur," Monsieur Reyer interrupted, raising his hand just high enough to be noticed, "I hope this doesn't sound ungrateful, but my curiosity gets the better of me at times. May I ask what the occasion is for such a gathering?"

"Well," his eyes darted around, "I am glad you asked, Monsieur Reyer." He paused, as if trying to come up with something, anything. "I would like it to mark the end of a great run of my newest opera. Not to mention, it should celebrate the success that Meg and Christine have found with it."

"Very good indeed, sir," Monsieur Reyer agreed.

Erik's gaze landed on Christine and didn't falter. She stared back at him, less passionately. "Think of it as a gift," he said quieter. Then he pivoted on his heel and departed from the room.

"Oh, Christine," Meg exclaimed as soon as he had gone, "isn't it divine?"

She grasped the brunette's arm and smiled broadly, joy filling her. Christine offered what little she could, but definitely couldn't match Meg's enthusiasm. She merely tried to make herself available for the girl to gush with.

"I suppose so," Christine muttered.

"A masquerade, here." Meg giggled. "I simply can't wait! There will ladies in beautiful gowns and proper gentlemen by their side. And everyone will be wearing a mask." She gasped slightly. "The mystery of it all is just so enthralling, wouldn't you say?"

Everyone would be in masks. There would be so many people present that it would be difficult to not bump into anyone. Christine's interest seemed to drop even more. "I don't know if enthralling is the correct word to describe it." Christine bit her lower lip. "Perhaps cunning, or opportunistic."


	17. Preparations

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** So the man that Erik meets up with in this chapter is just a random dude who gets stuff done. He isn't expected to show up again. Meanwhile, this is just a little more insight into Erik's side and Christine's side, I suppose. All the while we are inching ever closer to that ultimate showdown. I am sure that at least some of you have already guessed at what that will entail. Anyway, enjoy.

**Chapter 17 – Preparations**

"It is quite odd," Madame Giry was saying, as she helped Christine ready one of the long-vacant rooms in the chateau. "He would have never allowed anything like this before."

They lifted one of the white sheets, the dust flying into the air as it snapped and was dragged back down. All of the furniture in the ballroom had been covered for who knew how long to prevent against age and wear. It was up to them to now clear up the rarely used space and make it appear like new. They worked together to fold up the massive sheet—the first of many.

Christine hadn't been paying much attention to her aunt, who prattled on as they worked. She had dumbly been following any instructions given to her, hardly responding or showing interest at all. She particularly didn't want to be bothered with discussions regarding Erik, which seemed to be one of the only subjects her aunt could discuss with her.

"Before what?" Christine replied mechanically. She hardly knew she had spoken at all. She took up the ends Madame Giry offered her and placed the folded sheet to the side.

"Well, before you arrived, my dear," Madame Giry told, moving onto the next bit of furniture.

She glanced at her, slightly intrigued, but not much. "So you believe he is just doing this for my benefit?" she inquired carefully.

Madame Giry shrugged. "I suppose it would seem that way, yes. Just don't go reading too much into it, girl."

Christine moved in to help her. "You don't have to worry about that. I don't know why he would think anything like this would appeal to me anyway. He should just stop in his efforts."

"I would think that it is his efforts alone that should count for something," Madame Giry corrected. "He isn't the type to flaunt his generosities or make it obvious when he is trying to impress or atone."

Christine lifted an eyebrow, rather curious. "How is it you know so much about him?" She took the sheet and placed it atop the other one, creating a pile. Then they moved on.

Madame Giry remained focused on the task at hand, but she couldn't help feeling rather satisfied when someone showed interest in her story. "I have served here for many years. In that amount of time, one picks things up." Her eyes darted upward and stopped on Christine. "I am more observant than I think I am given credit for."

A small smile passed across Christine's lips. She certainly hadn't given much thought to her aunt, but completely believed everything she had just said. It would make sense that Madame Giry would have the most knowledge of what went on in the chateau. She was everywhere at once. She knew all of the ins and outs. It was only natural that she knew about the person she served.

Christine stopped and stared at her for a moment, while she continued about her work. The smile had faded from her lips and suspicion had taken root. "He didn't ask you to say something to me, did he?" she asked haltingly.

Madame Giry looked at her suddenly, as if offended and aghast she had even suggested such a thing. "On behalf of Master Erik? However did you get such an idea into your head? Believe me when I say I obey the master on many things, but I would never allow him to put me in the middle of his affairs. Trust me on that, girl." She shook her head incredulously and resumed tugging at another tarp. "Now are you going to help me or not?"

Christine immediately went to the other end to assist. From the way that Madame Giry had spoken it had seemed that Erik had used her to communicate with Christine. However, she believed what her aunt had said. It was just strange. She hadn't really seen Erik in days. He was away from the chateau more so than not. With the show coming to an end, performances were not as frequent, though not any less sold out. She had kept busy cleaning and preparing for the masquerade he was arranging.

They had left things in an uncomfortable place, which didn't appear to have a resolution in the very near future. She knew, though, that she wouldn't be the one to cave. She certainly wasn't at fault. She had had plenty of time to weigh what Erik had said and his side of the issue, too, though. She couldn't deny that he had made some valid points, all of which seemed to make perfect sense. His intent on protecting her was not something she was used to, but something she could accept. She only wished he would communicate with her.

She couldn't hide that the many days that had gone by without so much as seeing Erik, let alone talking with him, had pained her. Sure, she had corresponded with Raoul, who hadn't blamed or begrudged her for the way she had acted last they met, but that was simply not the same.

There was something missing—something that she missed. It unnerved her.

xXx

He had gone through names of all of the most prominent and important people in Paris to devise the guest list for his masquerade. He had ensured that only the very best invitations were created, as he was sure that they would not accept anything less. The pains he had taken to ensure that the celebration was legitimate he hoped would pay off.

Erik had been away from the chateau for some days, looking into some matters elsewhere in France. The information he had been searching for wasn't terribly difficult to uncover, especially since he knew the means of going about getting it.

Now back in Paris, his stagecoach was parked along the street, just outside the perimeter of light the streetlamp poured out. He had posted the invitations before the sun had set in the west, ensuring that there was still enough time for them to get delivered. It was massively important that they do so, since there couldn't be a party without guests.

Darkness had covered the city, and people had made themselves sparse. Erik didn't mind. He tended to avoid the public as much as possible because they easily became distracted and judgmental of the mask he always wore. He could only imagine their reaction if he were to ever remove it. There was one individual he knew that never minded such things, as he tended to see the strange and unusual in his occupation anyway. That was exactly who he currently waited on.

He noticed a glimmer down the alleyway he was parked next to and took it as his cue. He stepped out of the carriage and straightened his cloak before heading down the way the light had come from. It was quite typical of designated meeting places. Needless to say, he wasn't the type of fellow who would conduct business in more of a professional setting.

The man was hooded and standing toward the back of the alley. Shadows disguised his features, obscuring details to prevent his identity from getting out. In the sense of finding it necessary to hide, he was very much like Erik. Perhaps that was the reason why they were able to interact so successfully.

"Right on time, as always," the man greeted. He had a rough, accented voice.

Erik pulled out two envelopes from the inner pocket of his cloak. It was evident that a lot of consideration went into creating these letters. There was a single name written on each in the neatest of cursive. Yet, they were missing addresses.

"These two letters are of great significance," Erik informed with the utmost sincerity. "I need to ensure that they will be delivered in a timely fashion. You have a couple days."

The hooded man accepted the invitations and peered down at them. "There are no addresses on these."

"Precisely," Erik confirmed. "I retrieved their names and confirmation that they are here in Paris. I am sure that your contacts can assist you in locating them."

The other man pocketed the two envelopes then looked back to Erik. "Anything else?"

"That's it. You will receive your payment once I have confirmation that they have reached their intended destination."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." He nodded. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you again."

Without any indication of farewell, Erik spun on his heel and went out the same way he had entered. They tended to keep things short and to the point. His hooded acquaintance could always be relied upon. He had never been dissatisfied yet. He supposed that that could also be due in part to how their very first encounter had gone. In summary, Erik had forewarned that if any dealings did not meet his approval or expectations, or if he found himself taken advantage of, he would personally return to discuss the consequences with the man.

Erik slid back into the carriage and hesitated before signaling Joseph Buquet to head back to the chateau. He wasn't entirely sure he even wanted to go back. After all, he was still on odd terms with Christine. Though he was very aware of her feelings regarding the situation and, well, everything else, this was one time when he had to fairly much ignore them.

She hadn't been made aware of his plans, so she didn't know what he was trying to accomplish. If she discovered his intentions, he was certain that she would never speak to him again, perhaps even leave for good. He had to gamble that, though. If he could get even one chance at revenge for Christine's sake then he would offer up anything in the world, even his own life.


	18. The Nightingale

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** I am not terribly good at describing clothing ideas that are created in my head without using pictures, so I do apologize if that part is rather confusing. I didn't want to spend too much time focusing on their dress, as much as that pains me, so I decided to say what I thought "necessary" and move along. Anything missing can be left up to your imagination. Also, I was having a little bit of a tough time planning out the series of events until the ending of the story. I didn't want to spend too much time, again, on the masquerade aspect, since that is only a catalyst, as you will see. It was a little difficult to find a good way to end this chapter and then transition into the next in that respect. They kind of just go together. I wanted to have the costumes different from the actual stage show, so I found myself grasping at straws a little. I hope that this chapter pleases everyone, though. Christine and Erik are still trying to mend their relationship, but I also wanted to be more apparent with it, too. Read and enjoy. ^.^

**Chapter 18 – The Nightingale**

Carriages of all shapes and sizes pulled around to the main entrance, depositing smartly dressed individuals before taking off to make room for the next. The chateau had been completely decorated for the masquerade. It hardly looked the same as its previous dreary, desolate self. The meager staff had done what they could, but at a certain point, which was roughly two days prior, that separate company had to be called in.

Erik had left all of the arrangements up to Madame Giry, who, as it turned out, did a fantastic job in bringing the place to life. The interior was covered in ivory and ebony adornments. Even the exterior had been carefully planned out and executed. So much so that it rivaled the décor within the chateau.

Very rarely had there ever been company to the chateau. So, the amount of people arriving for that evening gushed over what they discovered. Surely the entire mass of them could boast about having similarly luxurious accommodations, if not even better. Yet, that evening, there wasn't a place that could compare.

As her guests shuffled in, making themselves comfortable and acquainting themselves with one another, Christine was still tucked away in her bed chamber, staring down at a box sitting on her simple cot that had not been there earlier in the day. It was quite large, square, and she was quite certain she knew what lay inside before she even pulled the lid off.

She hadn't been most excited about the idea of having a masquerade partly in her honor. Everyone seemed to know that. She had found excuse after excuse to avoid going into town to pick up the necessary wardrobe and accessories for such an event. She had determined to wear one of her simple, ordinary frocks and quickly fabricate some sort of mask to fit in. But, it appeared that Master Erik had something else in mind.

Christine carefully pulled off the black ribbon that kept the present secure and set that, along with the lid, aside. She stared into the depths of the box, seeing a sea of bronze and gold and cream colored satins and silks. She made sure she was very careful and gentle as she lifted the costume from its container. She held it up, inspecting it more closely. As much as she was bothered at the gift, she couldn't deny how beautiful and elegant the gown was.

She had never worn something so expensive before, unless one was to count the costumes in the opera she had just starred in. Not to mention she didn't have many other options. So, she swiftly removed what she had been wearing then slipped the other gown on. Luckily, it was still simple enough where she didn't need assistance.

The dress fit snugly but comfortably, hugging her in all of the right places. The bronze colored satin was bustled in the back, cascading over the long cream skirt, much like the tail feathers of a bird would look. The hem of the gown was detailed in gold, which managed to blend nicely into the cream. The gold bordered the bronze fabric as it traveled up her body, cinching in the waist with the cream colored silk and fanning out at her shoulder blades, appearing as wings. The cream colored fabric at the bust was again detailed with the gold, which flowed quite nicely. Though the neckline plunged lower than she was used to and the sleeves merely cupped her shoulders and extended no further, she managed to stave off the increasing chill of the night air.

She didn't have to spy the mask at the bottom of the box to identify the costume that Erik had gotten her, but she did nonetheless. Sure enough it was a gold mask with cream bronze colored detailing around the eyes and matching feathers. She extracted it delicately, holding it for a moment between her hands.

It was a nightingale. _His_ nightingale.

xXx

Erik greeted the partygoers in forced pleasantries. He had understood that he would have to play a part throughout the evening, and had accepted it necessarily. That wasn't to say he disliked it any less. He had specifically stated on the invitations that the masquerade was held at his, the composer's, chateau. It was to merely generate more attendance, if Christine's presence alone wasn't enough.

Needless to say, he got his wish.

Though he had practically greeted every single person who had come through the front doors thus far, he had yet to see who he was specifically looking for. Granted the masquerade didn't quite help him in the respect of identifying his special guests. Still, he figured he had other methods in finding out which masked visitors these fellows were.

Madame Giry sidled in beside Erik, her hands crossed appropriately in front of her. "Well, sir, it seems that so far tonight is a success," she muttered.

"Let's not be too hasty now, Madame Giry," he responded. He glanced over at her, inspecting her costume. "What are you supposed to be?"

She had on a black frock typical of her style, though perhaps a bit more elegant. Over her eyes was a lace mask of the same coloring with little gems dotted about. She looked at him. "Must I be some kind of character?"

"Wouldn't you prefer to be someone or something else for a night?"

She shrugged. "I find myself perfectly acceptable. But, perhaps just a bit more refined."

A smile cracked across her stony face—an expression not seen from her very often. He appreciated it and offered her a similar gesture. Having known each other for years in what might be considered an intimate setting, after all she took care of him on a daily basis, there was a comfort and an ease between them even in their professional capacity.

Madame Giry hesitated, her eyes locked on her daughter as she interacted with the guests. Meg appeared to blend in quite well. In fact, her smile and energy set her apart, made her stand out. "I would like to thank you for all that you've done for her." She nodded toward her daughter.

He followed her gaze, spying Meg immediately. He gave no indication of acknowledgement. But, seeing how Meg thrived and how much she seemed to be enjoying herself, he did feel pleased.

"I just wanted to make sure you were aware of how grateful I am to you," she whispered. "It really is quite remarkable how changed you seem since _she_ arrived."

Erik didn't know if he even liked her observation, but he realized that she was correct. He didn't even have to ask who she was referring to. He knew it was Christine. The truth was that ever since Christine had entered into his life, he had experienced a change. He wasn't the sullen, depressed creature he had been. But, their current position seemed to be working against everything. He couldn't go on in the way they were. He had to get her back.

He turned his head toward Madame Giry, as if he just thought up a good retort, but she had vanished into the crowds. He hadn't even seen or heard her leave. He shrugged it off, turning his attention back to the task at hand. The steady stream of incoming people had ceased, though, so he pivoted around to check again if he had perhaps missed the two men he was specifically searching for.

Then he saw her.

Christine was poised at the top of one of the staircases, her hand delicately placed on the bannister. She stared down at the masses below, but more specifically her eyes were locked onto Erik. It was as if his breath had been stolen from his body at the mere sight of her. She took each step very calculated, trying not to rush. Erik wasn't going anywhere anyway. He stared at her the entire time, physically unable to turn his gaze away.

"Do you approve?" she asked rather cynically when she had reached where he stood.

"Christine, you look stunning," he breathed. "Truly a vision."

A flush crept to her cheeks. "Well, thank you," she responded, more timidly. Her eyes darted about, unsure. Already people were beginning to stop and stare at her, obviously recognizing her for the star that she was. "So, what's next?"

It was as if he suddenly remembered his agenda. "I would like to make an introduction for you and Meg, if that is all right. Then perhaps you two can open a dance."

"I suppose that seems appropriate," she conceded.

Erik offered his arm, which, after a pause, Christine took. He led her into the adjoining ballroom that she had familiarized herself with already when preparing it for the current masquerade. It appeared much changed from when she had last seen it.

"You should be proud that you can call your choice a success," she stated, attempting to make small talk. "I don't know how well you did for yourself, though."

He looked incredulously at her, holding his other arm out as if she hadn't properly seen the costume before. "Do you not recognize the king of the dead, Hades, himself?" he boasted.

She took another look at him. The white skull-inspired mask attested to the character. He had adorned a long, flowing black cape rather reminiscent of the ancient Greek togas. The suit he wore underneath was more than just another of his typical black suits. It had some adornments that pulled together the mask and the character.

She smirked. "It doesn't surprise me that you had to come up with the most dismal character for yourself," she commented.

"It is what I do best," he agreed.

She nodded. "Indeed."

Christine was dropped off where Meg was already waiting. Erik clambered onto an elevated platform so he could draw attention his way. Glancing around, he hoped that the two people he had been eagerly awaiting had arrived. After all, the whole show was for them.

He cleared his throat. "May I have your attention, please?" He addressed the room, though they hardly paid him any mind. He took a deep breath and tried again. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could just have a moment of your time…"

This time his voice stretched across the sea of guests. The chatter ceased. Everybody appeared to turn toward him. His eyes scanned the crowd quickly, taking in all of the masks staring back at him. He wasn't a public speaker. In fact, he rarely interacted with so many people, so he suddenly felt rather intimidated. His gaze faltered onto Christine, who peered back in seeming support. He swallowed roughly, continuing on.

"I think it is quite obvious what has brought everyone here on this fine evening," he began. "Or perhaps who brought you here would be more proper to say. I can truthfully say that my opera would not have been the success it is if it wasn't for these two lovely ladies standing here."

He swept his arm downward to indicate Meg and Christine. Meg curtsied, while Christine opted for a small wave of her hand and a smile. She hadn't had much experience amongst crowds, either. People nearest them seemed to back away to offer them more space.

"Meg Giry has been a lead in the ballet numbers," Erik told. "There certainly wasn't any who could compare in conveying the passion underlying my opera."

The mass of people clapped loudly, for everything he had said was true. She did dance beautifully, and stood out amongst the rest of the performers in that way.

"And, I discovered Christine Daaé at precisely the right moment. There were some long and strenuous practices to prepare her for the role, but I would like to believe it was well worth the effort."

The applause for Christine outshined that for Meg. There were even a few cheers and congratulations. Christine blushed beneath her mask.

"So, to start things off, officially, Mademoiselle Giry and Mademoiselle Daaé will lead the first dance of the evening."

Erik dropped down from his perch and immediately offered his arm for Christine before anyone else got the chance. She played her part well and took it up. Meg wasn't far behind. A young gentleman eagerly offered himself as a partner, which she was glad to accept. Then the two couples proceeded into the center of the ballroom.

The song that the orchestra started up required close proximity between partners. Erik was hesitant at first, since he had never held a young woman, who he felt something for, close before. He took a deep breath again, though, and wrapped his arm around her waist. They swayed with the music, following the steps that were widely known for this particular tune.

"You are a good dancer," Erik whispered to her, trying to cut the awkwardness with some small talk. It seemed to only make things worse.

"You aren't bad yourself," she replied.

He paused. "Christine, please tell me that the last number of days have been agony for you, as well. You must realize by now that my intentions were pure."

"The thing is, Erik," she admitted softly, for all eyes were still on them, "you can say all you like, but there will always be some bit of doubt in my mind. As much as I would like to forgive you and for things to return to where they once were, I don't think it will ever be possible."

That certainly was not what he had wanted to hear. "Even if forgiveness is not an option, perhaps there is still a way for us to move on."

She hesitated. "Is there anything else you need to bring to light?"

Erik thought for a moment, truly thought. He supposed he could tell her that this soiree had only been set up to receive the two men who had assaulted her. He could explain to her that he was basically using her as bait to get to them. He could long for her to understand his reasoning, but know in his heart that it would simply drive her further away. He just couldn't allow that to happen. He couldn't tell her.

"Nothing," he said sincerely, staring into her eyes.

"Can you promise me that you will avoid keeping secrets from me?"

"After tonight, my dear, I shall certainly do my best." Again, he sounded as sincere as possible. This time, though, unlike the last, he told the truth. He didn't want to lie to her or keep things from her, he discovered. With him, sometimes that just happened.

Christine, obviously relieved that they could indeed continue on, moved in closer to him, a small smile turning up her ruby lips. They spun once more then the song came to a close. They took a moment to applause the orchestra, but they also received adulation from the crowd that had been watching them.

She glanced at Erik, who appeared to be taking the attention with as much patience that he could muster. She knew he wasn't one to particularly wish for such things. She was quite sure he would much rather be hiding in some dark corner than in the middle of the dance floor. It seemed slightly suspicious to her, but if he was doing this for Meg's benefit and her benefit, as he had said before, then she appreciated his sacrifices.

She hoped that he would live up to his word. She knew that he would try to for her sake, but she wasn't entirely convinced that he was capable of such a feat. In his old life, he had thrived on secrets and solitude. This was completely new to him. Hell, it was completely new to her too. She believed that she might be able to be happy, though, if they were to attempt to grow in this aspect together.

Erik quieted the noise. "Won't you all join us now on the dance floor?"


	19. Into the Labyrinth

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** So, I liked setting the stage with this chapter. I wanted to tie up the loose end with Raoul, but I also liked the idea of the interaction with him leading into something much darker. The only issue I think I may have, which is slight, is how almost evil Erik seems. Perhaps that is not the correct word. But, he does have his ways of going about things to get what he desires. He is used to stepping on people as a means to an end. With Christine, it would seem different. But then again…How will he redeem himself this time?

**Chapter 19 – Into the Labyrinth**

"Christine. Christine!"

Raoul forced his way through the crowds to get to Christine's side. She was practically bombarded by individuals giving their praise and adoration. They had very much backed her into a corner within the ballroom so that she could not escape. She was quite grateful for her rescuer.

"Raoul!" she exclaimed with a sigh of relief.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and ushered her out of the throng. "You looked a little overwhelmed."

She chuckled. "A little?"

"Was I right in rescuing you?" he asked, searching for her approval.

She grinned. "Very."

Raoul glanced out at the dance floor, which was alive. He gestured toward it. "Would you care to accompany me?"

"I would love to."

He swept her out onto the floor, instantly being sucked into the whirlwind of dancers. He had been looking forward to their interaction since he had arrived at the chateau. He hadn't quite figured that he would have to fend off the attention of everyone else. The pangs of jealousy hit him, but he had reminded himself of her current fame. He had also experienced a small number of people recognizing him for the viscount that he was and thusly showing their interest. Present was the best in society, the top circle. Anybody who was anybody was currently at this masquerade.

"Christine," he broke after a length of silence, "there was something I was hoping to discuss with you. I would prefer it to be in private, but this seems to be about the best chance I'll have this evening."

She stared up at him, her eyes large with wonder. "Well, you certainly have me intrigued, Raoul."

"Good," he murmured. "That's good."

They swung around the dance floor, migrating toward the outskirts of the synchronized bodies. If this was all he could count on for privacy then he would at least try to make the most of it. It was apparent to both of them that if they were to cease in their movement they would be set upon by guests interested in the opera singer.

"Since seeing you again after all of those years apart, life has been a dream," he confessed. "I had never imagined running into you again, especially in the manner it had occurred."

"And, yet," she chimed in, "here we are."

"Indeed." He grinned, optimistically. "I greatly hope that it has been just as delightful to see me after so much time has passed."

"Honestly, I can say it has. For me, as well, it had hardly seemed an option. We must embrace what fate has bestowed upon us, I suppose."

"I am relieved to hear you say that." Raoul cleared his throat. "Though it has been quite a short time since we have reunited, I think you can agree that we have actually known each other for years. I hadn't realized quite the impression you had made on me until I saw you again."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Where exactly are you going with this Raoul?"

He chuckled rather awkwardly and uncomfortably. "I suppose you are right. I should get straight to the point. Christine, I was hoping that you would consider accepting my hand in marriage."

They very much collided with another couple on the dance floor when Christine stopped instantly in shock. There were a few utterances of "excuse me" and "pardon me" and "I do apologize." Raoul pulled her off to the side to prevent anymore collisions. He was too busy tending to her to notice the stunned expression still plastered on her face.

"I'm sorry," she finally interrupted, "I don't believe I heard you correctly. Can you please repeat yourself?"

Raoul straightened his suit out and cleared his throat again. This time, however, he sensed her hesitation. "I would be honored if you would agree to be my wife."

"Raoul, that's…that's…" She tried searching for the word, but seemed to fall short.

"Wonderful?" he suggested, hoping that he was on the right track.

"Absurd!" she burst.

She saw the crestfallen expression on his face and immediately regretted her bluntness. Yet, he appeared to change in front of her eyes and grow defensive and rather offended at the same time. He backed away a step.

"How is a marriage proposal from me to you absurd?" he demanded.

She shook her head. "No, that's not quite what I meant."

"I don't see how you could be so against it," he continued. "I believe if your father was still here he would see the benefit to it."

Christine stopped even trying to fight back and looked at him, sadness in her eyes. "I don't doubt that he would be in agreement. But he would have also wanted me to follow my heart. Did you even listen to the words you just said?"

"Are you referring to how I proposed to you?"

She shook her head. "No. You suggested the benefit our pairing would have. Raoul, I want more than just benefit. I want love."

"So you are saying that you don't love me?"

He sounded quite hurt, but she knew she had to continue on. She had to see her explanation to the end for him to understand. The worst thing about the whole situation now was that they couldn't go back to where they were before.

"I do love you-" she had started to say.

Raoul interrupted, seizing the opportunity. "Then what's the problem?"

She sighed. "Not like that, Raoul. I love you in the way childhood friends love each other. Perhaps there was a time when I thought I felt something more for you, but unfortunately I can't say the same presently. Please, can we not just be good friends?"

He swallowed roughly. It almost seemed that he was attempting to stave off tears. Yet, he offered a hurt smile. "Of course we can," he assured stiffly. "I suppose it was a silly idea to begin with."

"Don't say that, Raoul. It wasn't silly."

At that time, a figure had come upon the couple. He approached behind Christine, so that she was unable to initially identify him. It wouldn't have been immediately apparent, though, anyway, since he wore a large mask reminiscent of a fox.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt," he greeted carefully.

Christine shook her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose beneath her mask. "There is no interruption, monsieur."

"I was just going to inquire if I could partner with the young lady in a dance," the stranger offered. "But, if you two are still in the middle of a conversation…" He trailed off, luring them into finishing the thought.

"No, not at all. Please, be my guest." Raoul swept an arm toward Christine, as if offering her to the man. She attempted to keep him with her using just her eyes, but failed. "We are done here."

She watched Raoul disappear amongst the other guests, longing for him to turn back to her with each step he took in the opposite direction. Finally, she had to admit defeat. She pivoted around slowly, doing her best at putting on a happy face. It was all just a caricature, though. The last thing she wanted to do was indulge one of the guests she didn't know in a dance around the ballroom.

"I do apologize about that, monsieur," she was saying. "You caught the end of an-"

She stopped. Her breath caught in her throat and a nervous sweat broke out across her brow.

The wisp of chopped blonde hair. The chiseled jaw bone poking out of the bottom of the mask. The way he stood so easily, yet so intimidatingly. It was those eyes, though. Above everything else, it was his eyes beneath the fox mask that bore into her so sharp and threatening that it burned her very soul.

Despite the mask hiding his main features, she recognized him. And, she was immediately afraid.

The small smirk that touched his lips was an indication that he knew that she knew who he was. He put an arm on her waist, which caused her to startle. "Shall we go, Mademoiselle Daaé?"

She could do little else than be escorted out onto the floor. She allowed him, however painstakingly, to wrap his arm about her waist and lead her in the dance. She could feel her heart beat roughly against her chest, out of time with the music. It nearly caused her to falter numerous times, but he seemed to anticipate it and catch her. She tried to remain very aware of him, but her mind was on a million things at once. The encounter that night in her dressing room bled into the sea of faces that whirled around her.

"I believe you would be quite a lovely dancer, Mademoiselle Daaé," Philippe taunted, "if you were not so distracted."

With two fingers, he lifted her chin upward so that her gaze met his. She cringed at his touch. She bit her lip and defiantly stared into his eyes. She gathered what courage she had, finding comfort in knowing that he couldn't try anything where everybody else could see.

"What are you doing here?" she questioned, proud that her voice didn't waver.

"We were invited."

"We?" she repeated, as if it hadn't occurred to her that his friend might have joined him.

Instead of giving her an actual answer, he grinned, bearing his teeth. The knowledge that both of them were present was even more discomforting than when she had initially assumed it was just Philippe. Her knees nearly gave way beneath her, but he was strong enough to hold her up until she regained balance.

"Now, now. None of that, Christine," he whispered. "We don't want to draw any unwanted attention."

"W-What do you want?"

"We've come to collect, remember?"

Certainly she remembered. She could recall the entire event now. The last thing she had known was crawling toward the door after the two debt collectors had left then drifting into unconsciousness. Then she had awoken in Erik's chambers. She realized now that he really had saved her life. She couldn't even say what might have happened if he hadn't come along, albeit through his secret passageway.

"How could I forget?" she bit back.

He snorted. "Well, perhaps this time you will be a bit more cooperative then. We wouldn't want you to get hurt again."

He brought his hand to her cheek, but she instantly turned her head away, disgusted. "Don't touch me."

"Still as feisty as ever, eh?" Philippe drawled. A dark, intrigued grimace distorted his features. "Good. I'll enjoy this more then."

He grasped the back of her hair tightly, her head prickling with pain. At that moment, though, she saw her opportunity behind him. She fell into him with as much force as she could muster, causing him to lose his balance and stumble into the couple passing behind them. Christine was jarred loose in the tumble and swiftly took action.

She shuffled between people, making her way to the outside of the dance floor. She still had to push her way through people to not get caught up in the crowds, and certainly had to ignore any calls for her to join a conversation or introduce herself to a friend of a friend.

Christine bolted toward the closest door that could put some distance between them—the back door leading into the gardens. It didn't matter to her, so long as she could get away. She flew through the door, which knocked against the adjoining wall, alarming the few people standing around it. She glanced back over her shoulder periodically to see if she was being followed. Though she couldn't distinguish his figure in particular, she was sure that he was in pursuit.

If there was one last hope in this situation, it was the chance of losing her pursuer in the labyrinth ahead.

xXx

Erik watched from a distance, never taking his eyes from Christine. He knew that they would show themselves eventually, and one did. He couldn't miss the opportunity. Just as Erik had thought.

He followed silently through the crowds, snaking in and out along their trail, coming upon the back door. It was both of them now in pursuit of Christine. Both men were desperately following her into the labyrinth within his backyard.

He couldn't have asked for it to have gone any better. Certainly he would have preferred Christine remain as removed from the situation as possible, but that just wasn't an option. Unfortunately, she was the bait. It was only through her that Erik could get to them and make them pay for what they had done. He would have to explain everything to her eventually, if she hadn't already figured out his entire scheme. He knew she wouldn't be happy about it. Nobody would.

Yet, as he watched them cutting through the darkness and down the path into the gardens, he couldn't help smiling. It was a smile of pleasure and of anticipation. Better yet, it was a smile of victory.


	20. The Sword or the Mask

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** Sorry that this chapter took so long. It is not the last one. Not yet. But, I needed everything to be perfect!...which was difficult. I am still not completely satisfied, but it still works the way I want it to. I didn't want to make Christine the helpless girl in the story. Yet, I still wanted her involvement and reaction to seem real. I tried to read over this chapter many times, but I think that perhaps I overdid it a bit. So I apologize if my brain turned off and there are some weird bits or things that don't quite fit.

As a note, I wanted to make the labyrinth in the back of Erik's chateau a mix between the one at Versailles , the one in Anastasia, and the Secret Garden. It is somewhat difficult for me to describe exactly how it seems in my mind, but I hope that you can come up with some images on your own, as well. I didn't want to take too much time attempting to describe every bit of it because I did want it to still seem mysterious and daunting.

**Chapter 20 – The Sword or the Mask**

Her breath came in ragged gasps. She had been running through the maze for a number of minutes without rest. Though all she could see behind her were flower bushes and hedges, she was certain that she was still being followed. Regardless, she didn't want to leave it up to chance. So she ventured further and further in.

It had become quite obvious early on that there was no way she could cheat and fit through the foliage. She would have to participate like the others and snake her way through the labyrinth. The only issue with this approach was that she was getting just as lost as she hoped the two men pursuing her were.

Accordingly, Christine found herself face-to-face with another dead end. A large flowerless hedge loomed over her in the darkness. Sure, the natural light from the evening sky and the soiree lights allowed a dim glow in which to navigate by, but it wasn't enough to chase away the nervous feeling the maze gave her, let alone her fear of the debt collectors closing in on her trail.

"Mademoiselle Daaé, is this really necessary?" Philippe's voice carried through the air to her.

She gasped softly, afraid at first that he was nearby. Judging by the volume of his voice, however, she was able to tell that he wasn't going to just appear in front of her. She still had time to get away.

Christine jogged back the way she had come, turning down another path. She hadn't thought about where she was going or what she was going to do. She had not planned that far ahead. She hoped that some sort of brilliant idea would come to her. As of yet, inspiration hadn't hit.

The chill in the air touched her bare arms and face, though she hardly felt the sting as she ran. The ground beneath her feet was rather uneven due to the small, loose stones paving the way. Granted, the heels she wore did not assist her balance. In fact, as she turned the next corner, she felt her foot slip out from underneath her and she fell across the ground with a loud grunt.

It took her a moment to come back to her senses and realize what had just happened. She lifted herself onto her elbows, wincing as she did so. The fall had not left her or her dress unharmed. The rocks had made a few scratches on her skin; and, the fall had left her slightly sore and most likely bruised. For that time, everything else seemed to be so far away, nearly forgotten. She got to her knees, each movement careful. It was when she was attempting to climb to her feet that her ankle showed its weakness and caused her to fall to the ground once more.

She gasped, gripping at her ankle. It didn't appear to be broken or sprained. There was no bruising. She assumed it had just twisted in an odd way and needed some time to recover. She struggled to her feet again, this time minding the weight she put on her injured appendage. Unfortunately, she wouldn't be able to rest just yet. She had to keep going.

Christine hobbled onward, finding it quite a difficult task to keep up a good pace, while still tending to her leg. It was certainly more strenuous. She found herself having to stop again after just a short time. She leaned against one of the rose bushes, resting her head back against the prickly foliage. Her chest heaved, as her breathing attempted to catch up to her racing heart. Her mind immediately went into a dark, pessimistic place. All hope of finding a way out of this situation vanished.

"Christine!" his voice rang out again. "Come out, come out wherever you are."

Her hand flew over her mouth as another audible gasp escaped her lips. Fear pierced her heart. He sounded closer, much closer. She couldn't determine how much time had passed since he had last called out to her—hours, just minutes? It was so hard to keep track within the labyrinth. Tears stung her eyes. There was no escape.

She swallowed down her fear, adjusting her posture upright. She had to keep going. At the very least she couldn't give up. She had to stay strong. There was just a piece of her that desperately wished that Erik was with her…

She tore herself away from the rosebush, in the process literally ripping her outfit and some of the skin beneath on the thorns that protected the flowers. She hardly winced at the bite from the thorns, her determination so strong. She continued to hobble down the path, and at the last bend she took, a dim glow was spotted just ahead.

"Help!" she called. "Anyone! Is a-anyone there?"

Christine approached faster, thinking that perhaps she had circled back around somehow and was about to be deposited back outside of the chateau. However, when she cleared the surrounding hedges, she halted immediately in her progression. It certainly was not where she had expected to find herself. The clearing was circular with four entrances into it. In between these, black iron benches were pushed against the foliage. The light came from several candelabras that must have been set up for the masquerade in case any guests wanted to tour the labyrinth. These were standing next to each bench and appeared to be weighted down to prevent any accident from occurring.

In the middle of the clearing was a large marble statue. It appeared quite alluring and dangerous. It had certainly captivated Christine. The statue was of a veiled figure weeping at the feet of an angel, who held a sword in one hand and a mask in the other. It was evident that the angel offered the poor soul a choice: either live behind the mask for the rest of its life or else face death. Given such options, she could hardly say what the figure opted for, but she had an idea.

Christine was lured as close to the statue as she could get. But, there was a chain link fence, matching the benches, surrounding the base of it. She could only get so far. The barrier reached her waist, small enough to allow the statue to be viewed in all of its glory, while still notifying that it should not be touched or handled. She respected this wish and, despite the yearning to reach out and touch it, did not place a single finger upon the marble.

It was only the sound of hurried footsteps over the rocks that jarred her out of her reverie. She turned toward the noise, which was coming down the same way she had. Knowing full well that she would never be able to outrun them now, she decided to hide in hopes that they would think she continued onward. Not knowing which route they might take, she ducked swiftly on the other side of the statue, praying that its bulk would shield her from their eyes. She was also planning that they would quickly pass her up and she would be free to venture back the way she had come.

She hunched down, barely breathing to remain as silent as possible. And, she listened.

Two pairs of footsteps shuffled into the clearing, sliding to a halt. It seemed that the area was being surveyed and decisions were being made.

"Which way did she go, Nadir?"

There came no reply.

"This is not good. If she makes it back to the chateau, we could be ruined."

Again, no answer, but more scuffling.

"This direction would seem to be the hastiest choice. One tends to opt for the quickest and most convenient route."

The footsteps headed in one direction. Christine sided along the statue in the opposite so as to avoid any detection. Just when she thought she was in the clear, though, the footsteps came to an abrupt halt. She stopped immediately, as well. Panic began to set in, as she couldn't say what they might be thinking.

"What's that, Nadir?" Pause. "What did you hear?"

She put a hand over her mouth and held her breath. She could hear her pulse pounding in her ears and feared that perhaps they could hear it too.

"You bring up a very good point. She could still be in the area. She could have thought herself smart enough to fool us, I suppose. Could she really be that stupid, though? Could she really think that she has the ability to trick us?"

She whimpered slightly, a tear rolling silently down her cheek. For, Philippe's tone grew angrier and angrier.

"What do you think, Mademoiselle Daaé?" he posed to the open air. "Do you think us gullible enough to fall for your little charade?"

She inched along slightly, her gaze landing on the closest opening in the hedges. Perhaps she could make it. She should probably at least attempt it—attempt to save her life. Something in her told her that Erik would perform the same way. She didn't know why he was suddenly on her mind or why she missed him so very much. But, she didn't want to disappoint him despite everything. She wanted to make him proud. Therefore, she couldn't give up. She had to fight to the very end.

"Why don't you come out and save us the trouble of having to find you?"

She had to position herself just right, though. After all, she was working with an injured ankle. She sucked in a breath as quietly as possible. She had to gather her courage and her strength for such a feat. She poised herself just so in order to have the most beneficial take off. She waited. Waited. Then she pounced.

But she didn't get very far.

Nadir pounced as well, knocking her off balance and pinning her to the ground. He had snuck up on her as she had been preparing. She found herself on her back, feet away from the statue, staring up at a tanned face. Though her vision swam and had to readjust, she realized what had happened and her position now. Her heart fell.

Philippe approached, clucking his tongue at her. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Really, Mademoiselle Daaé, you had us worried for a moment there." He knelt down on his haunches to be closer to her so he could whisper the next bit. "I would have advised against anything of the sort. Nadir here gets so impatient. But, it's too late now."

He stood and snapped his fingers, signaling his partner. "Nadir, help Mademoiselle Daaé to her feet, please. Honestly, that really is no way to treat a young lady."

Nadir got off of her and picked her up like she was a rag doll. As she was set onto her own feet, she winced as the weight came down on her injured ankle. She hoped that they hadn't noticed, but it seemed impossible to hide anything from them. Sure enough, Philippe's face lit up at the observation.

"Have you been injured?" he asked, drawing close again. "That would be quite a shame." Alarmingly fast, his hand shot out and closed tightly around her thin throat. She had always thought Nadir was the brawn, but Philippe proved he had muscle, too. His lips neared her ear. "I prefer my prey to be unspoiled."

He sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils, taking in her scent with it. Then his fingers opened and she fell to the ground, coughing and sucking in the air that had been denied to her. Philippe closed his eyes, finding ecstasy in her smell.

"Mmm, lavender," he muttered.

Christine glared up at him. "If you're going to kill me," she wheezed, "just get it over with."

Philippe appeared as if he had just been awoken from a very, very good dream. "Now why would we kill you? You still owe us some money. We may have to collect some other way, but a dead woman cannot pay us."

Her eyes darted toward Nadir, who loitered in the background, feet away. Grasped in his hand, though, was an object that glimmered in the candlelight. There was no mistaking it. He held a knife. A somewhat large one at that. She couldn't say when he had brandished it or where he had kept it in the meantime. It didn't matter. She was scared, nonetheless.

Philippe growled slightly and ripped off the fox mask that had been covering most of his face. "These stupid things!" He threw it off to the side. "I prefer to not be hindered. It would just make things messier. Nadir, feel free to do away with the 'disguise.'"

The shorter gentleman did as he was instructed. With his free hand, he pulled off the wolf mask that he had adorned. He discarded it in the same direction, not allowing that to distract him. He continued to move forward toward her.

"Come on. To your feet," Philippe ordered, hauling her up again.

He gripped her arm and dragged her to her feet. She couldn't do anything other than obey. He maintained a rough and secure grasp on her so that her ankle wouldn't give out on her again. He was able to steady her for the most part. Nadir flanked her and placed the cold steel of the blade against her temple. Immediately she bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling, but her eyes betrayed her and shone with the nervous, unshed tears.

"Do you understand the extent of your family's debts, Mademoiselle Daaé?" Philippe questioned. She shook her head carefully, not wanting to press too hard against the sharp knife. "People will go to extremes in order to collect on that much money." His voice grew softer, more threatening. "Do you know how easily that knife would slice through skin as soft as yours?" She didn't answer, but it was obvious that it was a negative answer. "Would you like to find out?"

Nadir flicked his wrist. At the same time, Christine did her best to cringe away from the action, thinking that it was the final blow. Instead, the knife sliced through the ribbon holding the nightingale mask to her face and severed several strands of hair along with it. Both fell to the ground, motionless.

Philippe's laughter rang out across the night sky, mocking and insane. Christine's chest heaved with fright and adrenaline. Her fingers went up to her temple where the knife had been touching and came away with little dots of red on them. Apparently the blade had nicked her, as well. She glanced back at Nadir, who was sliding the edge of the knife along his gloved forefinger. She shifted her gaze onto Philippe again, who was still elated about what had just happened. She attempted to calm her thoughts and organize them accordingly. She had to think and quickly. Her time was running out.

A deep voice rang out over the maniacal laughter. "Apparently I have just missed something desperately humorous. It disappoints me a touch."

Philippe abruptly stopped. He pulled Christine closer to him and spun to find the source of the new voice. It didn't appear that he was having much success, despite the small size of the clearing. Christine was not entirely sure what was happening or how someone had stumbled upon them. The only thing she was very aware of was that someone _had_ interrupted and that her fate relied on their presence.

"It may be wise to avoid damaging her face. After all, it only helps in earning the funds you need to collect," the voice instructed.

It was obvious that Philippe was becoming unsettled and frustrated. He wrenched the knife out of Nadir's hand and held it up to Christine's throat. "If you care so much about what happens to her, show yourself!" He motioned toward Nadir to silently stalk around in order to catch their uninvited guest off guard.

Meanwhile, Christine glanced helplessly about, trying to find her ally. She could feel the blade pressed carelessly against her bare skin, terrified that if he should slip up in just the slightest she was going to be the one to pay for it. She hoped that this third party knew what to do and hadn't just jumped in without some sort of plan.

"I am right over here, monsieur," the voice revealed. And, indeed, it sounded much closer than it had.

Christine looked to the other side of the statue at their guest and nearly cried out in relief. It was just barely that she was able to hold her tongue. Erik sat on one of the benches, appearing quite comfortable and casual. It looked as if he had been sitting there for a while, not as if he had just appeared when threatened to do so. She didn't know what Erik's intentions were, so she didn't want to give anything away. She tried to remain as calm as possible, but inside was an explosion of gratitude.

She wanted to run to him. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and pull her in close and to tell her that everything was going to be all right. She just wanted this nightmare to be over. Now that Erik was there, she believed it could be. She found energy that she had believed to have been long since spent.

"Who are you?" Philippe asked, not as controlled as he usual was or preferred to be. "What are you doing here?"

Erik stood, again just as casual. "Who I am makes no difference. My purpose here should be quite obvious. You are asking the wrong questions, if I do say so."

"You certainly have some gall," Philippe spat. "If you'd like to just be on your way, we'll forget that you were ever here. We have some business to attend to, you see."

He shook his head. "I am afraid I cannot do that, gentlemen." Erik's gaze shifted momentarily over to where Nadir was stalking in the shadows. Surprised that he had been discovered, the foreigner stopped and froze in place. "You see," he continued, turning his attention back to his main adversary, "you mean Mademoiselle Daaé harm and I cannot allow that to happen."

Erik had moved a few steps closer. However, Philippe pressed the knife more roughly into Christine's delicate throat. She winced as it cut into her and a thin crimson line traveled down her pale skin. Immediately, Erik stopped and held up his hands as if to show he was unarmed.

"Now, now, don't do anything hasty," Erik tried to quell. "What if I were to tell you that I can repay whatever debts have befallen on Mademoiselle Daaé's name?"

A sneer spread Philippe's thin lips into a very eerie shape. In the glow of the candlelight, he looked otherworldly. "We would certainly be willing to accept whatever donations you wish to give. However, our little pet right here has caught my interest."

As Philippe spoke, unbeknownst to Erik, Nadir had picked up his steady, silent pace again. He was close. So close. Erik was too distracted by the bloodshed to widen his scope of attention.

"And, when something catches my interest," Philippe continued slyly, noticing his partner's movement and buying him some time, and all the while Erik remained unaware, "I never let it go."

Nadir was close enough. He tackled Erik, who stood at least two heads taller, to the ground. They struggled for a moment, while all Christine could do was watch in horror. Though smaller, Nadir was definitely the fiercer of the two. Sure enough, he was able to wrestle Erik's arm behind his back and, by stepping on his back, shoved his face into the gravel. Erik grunted with the sharp pain that flared through his shoulder, feeling his muscles and his tendons tear and stretch beyond their natural limit.

"Erik!" Christine cried, feeling a physical pang in her stomach from his distress.

The audible chuckle that Philippe had been producing ceased abruptly again. He looked between Christine and Erik a couple of times before it dawned on him exactly what he had captured. At that time, he let out another loud guffaw of pure joy.

"I can't believe this," he breathed. "Can this be? Has your lover, mademoiselle, come to try to rescue you?"

Christine struggled in his grasp, knowing full well that she wasn't about to break free on her own. "You're pathetic," she hissed.

"I see why you like her," he posed to Erik. He leaned his face into her scent again, emphasizing everything to make Erik squirm. His free hand traveled dangerously down her body. "I think I just came up with a better way to make both of you suffer."

With the hand holding the knife, he stroked her cheek with the backside of his fingers. She turned away, sniffling, and at the last minute stretched out and clamped her teeth down on his bare hand. He wailed in pain, dropping the knife, which stuck into the ground. He backhanded her across the face, and she immediately fell in a pile on the ground.

"Bitch!" Philippe cursed, nursing his hand. She had broken skin. There was a line of steadily growing crimson across his skin.

Erik couldn't have been prouder of Christine in that moment. She lifted her head up gently, obviously still reeling from being struck and peered over her shoulder at what was occurring. His heart lightened seeing that she was at least still with him.

Erik sneered, chuckling. "I would tell you her bark is worse than her bite, but you and I both know that is a lie."

Philippe stomped angrily toward Erik, though Nadir twisted his arm more as punishment. Still, it wasn't enough. Philippe wanted to make him suffer.

"You find this funny?" Philippe spat. "You are in no position to pass judgment on me!"

Though Erik struggled, he couldn't do anything to stop what happened next. To better recognize his opponent, Philippe reached down and tore off the mask that had been concealing Erik's face. Instantly, the reaction was felt. His deformity was revealed. Philippe backed up a step or two, stunned. Nadir even inadvertently loosened his grip.

If there was one thing Erik disliked most in the world, it was the effect his deformity had on others. So when Philippe removed the only thing that he could hide behind, he suddenly felt very exposed. It might feel the same way as someone being stripped bare and forced to stand nude in front of a large crowd of people, he supposed. He couldn't make the comparison through personal experience. But, in any case, he was overcome with hatred, self-loathing, and most of all depression.

Philippe managed to find his voice again, after several minutes of reaction. "Well, I certainly wasn't expecting that." He rubbed his jaw, as if trying to conceal the excited grin. "You dare to challenge me? Look at you!" He shouted over his shoulder at Christine. "This is your savior? This is who you would choose—a monster?"

Erik stared across the clearing to where Christine still sprawled across the ground. Tears stung his eyes, causing his vision to blur. Yet, he still was able to see her peer right back at him then turn away, most likely in disgust. That was the one thing that could truly hurt him, he discovered. He felt his heart breaking into a million little pieces. All hope and desire to see this through disappeared. He turned his head into the rough, rocky earth, ashamed and hurt.

Erik had never known for certain whether Christine had actually seen anything that evening she had walked in on him. There was no doubting it tonight, though. He had never wanted her to see the horror that lay beneath the mask. She was too pure to be exposed to such a monstrosity.

"Look at you," Philippe had continued, facing Erik again. "You are a disgrace. How could she, or anyone for that matter, have anything but loathing and disgust for you?" He snickered. He seemed to be finding too much enjoyment at Erik's expense.

Erik would have liked to say that the words meant nothing, but that would have been a lie. Despite having heard similar things all his life, it never got any easier. Sensing Nadir's loosening grip, though, he tossed, attempting to throw the man off. He didn't quite know where he would have gone from there, but he figured he might as well try anyway. He was too emotionally hurt to really give it his all.

Nadir was quick to react and immediately pinned him down again, just as strongly as he had the first time. He had barely even shifted position, his face still buried in the ground. And now his captor pushed harder on the back of his head, as if attempting to drown him.

Philippe, though perhaps slightly alarmed at first, sniggered again at the failed attempt at escape. "Well, he certainly lives up to his beastly appearance, doesn't he, Nadir? Lift up his face. I think I can stand to take a closer look before the fun really begins."

Nadir's fingers dug into the back of Erik's head, wrapping around the raven locks. Then, he pulled upward with great force. Erik's head wrenched backward, a slight pang cutting through the back of his neck. There was no way to hide his face. His deformity was brandished for the entire world to view.

With his head forcibly up, Erik was able to make out the situation better, as well. He couldn't see Nadir, for obvious reasons. The smaller man still sat on him, pinning him down. But he could see Philippe loitering just feet in front of him, taking advantage of the position the hostages were in to make a few jests and just generally enjoy himself.

Beyond Philippe, where Christine had been left splayed across the ground, Erik nonchalantly noticed that her spot was empty. Immediately he was confused. He thought for a moment that perhaps her entire presence had been some sort of hallucination his mind had created to cope. But then he saw that she was upright and limping very noiselessly toward Philippe, something glinting in her hand.

He did his best to not draw attention to her presence. So, his gaze shifted back onto Philippe. He stared at him in malice, wanting nothing more than to rip his head from his body. However, he would have to contain himself. He had to time everything just so or else the element of surprise would be lost.

"You should be thanking me instead of trying to kill me," Philippe was telling him. "I am doing you a favor by wiping you from this earth. You will no longer have to live in torment and fear. Don't you want that? Don't you want to be released from your mortal prison?"

"Do you?" Erik muttered as best he could.

At that moment, Christine lunged forward and skewered Philippe in the back of the shoulder with the knife. He screamed out in agony, which turned swiftly to violent rage. At the same moment she had stuck Philippe, Erik had made his move. Nadir had reacted just as he had assumed—loosening his grip and his attention turning to his injured friend. Erik managed to wriggle an elbow free and jam it into Nadir's stomach. More because he was taken aback than actually hurt, Nadir recoiled, falling backward and allowing Erik to get to his feet.

Philippe swung around on Christine as she extracted the knife from his shoulder. He grabbed her wrist when she attempted to plunge the blade into him one more time. The other hand he wrapped around her throat, not holding back this time. She could feel the bones in her neck screaming against the pressure. The knife fell to the ground again, and she scratched at his hand, desperately trying to escape.

Meanwhile, Erik had noticed her plight, but decided that it would be in their best interest to dispose of one of their attackers first. He whirled toward Nadir, who was still recovering from the elbow to the stomach. Erik got his hands around the foreigner's throat and lifted him off of the ground. Nadir was taken aback. All he could do was react. He struggled against the stone grip as Erik, fueled by adrenaline and hatred, carried the man toward the spikes surrounding the marble statue.

"Why would you do that?" Philippe spat. "Do you know how much it angers me that you did that?"

There was a _shiiiiiiiiiiiiink_ and an odd crunching noise. Philippe released Christine, who fell to the ground again, weakened. Turning, he became horrified.

Philippe had met Nadir when the foreigner had first started at the agency. He had been the strong silent type right from the get go, which Philippe later found out was due to the fact that his tongue had been cut out. All of Philippe's partners before had met an untimely end, but Nadir had been different. They had instantly fallen into their roles.

Nadir had been dropped mercilessly onto the sharp ends of the short spikes, which had impaled him through the chest. Blood, that appeared more black than red in the darkness, ran down the barb like a waterfall to the ground below. He spluttered slightly, blood flying out of his mouth, but succumbed to death in a matter of seconds.

"No!" Philippe howled to the night air.

He rushed to his partner's side, as if he could still do something. It would appear to most that knew him that this was the greatest outpour of genuine emotion that he ever had. He knelt in the pooling fluid, unable to actually touch the dead body. Despite the anguish and the personal hit, he did not shed a tear.

Erik took the opportunity to fall at Christine's side and tend to her as best he could in the short window. He touched her shoulder lightly. "Christine, can you hear me?"

She roused slightly, coughing and choking, which caused his heart to leap. She was alive. He could only imagine how she would be afterward. Whatever the case, though, however she came out of this mess, he would stay by her side if she asked. She just needed to ask.

Philippe peered over his shoulder at the two who had murdered his partner. "Y-You killed him," he whispered darkly.

The scowl marring his face was terrifying and threatening. He carefully got to his feet, surveying the scene. Christine still occupied the ground, but he hardly peered at her anyway. She wasn't the threat. He stared directly at Erik, the one whose hand was stained red with Nadir's blood. Erik slowly stood, sensing the storm headed his way.

As he stepped lightly toward them, he bent down to retrieve the knife, not even looking at it. Instead, his eyes scorched Erik's very soul. "You are going to regret that," he growled. "I'll make sure of it."

Philippe lunged at Erik, completely bypassing Christine. She was too frail at the moment to really do anything. Philippe slashed out with the knife, which Erik dodged time and time again. They inadvertently struggled toward the spiked fence where Nadir had met his demise.

Erik reacted a second too slow, and the blade scraped across his torso, cutting through the clothes he wore to open his skin. One more scar wouldn't matter. At least it was a chance to determine how sharp the knife actually was. He stumbled back a few steps, unnerved by the mad chuckling that Philippe vomited forth.

"So he does bleed," Philippe mocked, sneering and spitting through his teeth.

With this comment, and the smell of blood in the air, Philippe grew all the crazier. He lunged at Erik again, and after Erik's initial dodge, managed to lance him in the arm. Erik winced, but in the close proximity, he grabbed Philippe's collar with the uninjured hand and head-butted him backward. The knife was extracted as he staggered, juggled loose and being lost yet again.

Despite being forced off balance, Philippe immediately searched for the blade as soon as he was steady again, his nose obviously broken and blood running down his face. Erik didn't give him much of a chance, though. He took advantage of Philippe's bent frame to bring a foot up to his face. On all accounts, it should have forced Philippe into unconsciousness, but he fell onto his back on the ground, moaning in pain.

Erik stood over him, allowing his rage to take hold. He wanted to see this man suffer as much as he had been meant to. He grabbed the shirt collar again, pulling him up so that he could speak quietly. "So he does bleed," he hissed. "I should kill you right here, right now."

A guffaw was the last response Erik had expected. Philippe looked up at him through two bruised eyes. "Do it. I would welcome death. Are you ready for it, though? That is the real question."

In his confusion, Erik was caught off guard. Philppe swung his feet around, knocking Erik to the ground, as well. He managed to get to his knees and, in a surprising turn of strength, pick Erik up by the collar and drag him across the ground a foot or two, buying himself some time. Philippe positioned himself on top of Erik, looming over him. He had both hands near his neck.

"You are nothing!" Philippe shouted. He looked wild, with his hair all askew and spittle flying from his mouth. "I'll kill you then her! How dare you? How dare you?"

A gleam flashed to the side of Philippe and the knife lodged itself into his jugular. He immediately ceased, his eyes going wide in surprise. He managed to pivot, just slightly, to see where the surprise had come from. Christine stood over the two, trying to appear defiant, but the nerves of what she had just done obviously getting to her. Philippe grasped at her skirts, almost in a last effort move, but he couldn't stay coherent. He had no more life left in him. He fell to the ground, dead, ripping her dress in the process.

Erik stood, slowly moving forward to comfort Christine. She stared down at Philippe's body and her own hands, which were coated in his blood, her eyes wide with disbelief and shock.

"Christine," he cooed, "it's alright." He placed an arm around her shoulders, instantly realizing that she was shaking. Her skin felt icy, but he knew it was the shock. "Christine," he pulled on her, and she was easily led away, "come with me. Come away."

He sat her on the nearest bench and eased down beside her. Before he was to do anything else, take care of the two dead bodies on his property, he had to ensure that she wasn't in a broken place. She held her hands in her lap, palms up so as to avoid getting bloodstains on the expensive fabrics. She stared at nothing, her eyes unseeing. It was her mind attempting to cope with everything that had happened, and coming to terms with it being over.

He held her face between his hands, forcing her to acknowledge him. "Christine, are you hurt? Can you talk to me?"

Her gaze adjusted and recognition passed over her expression. "H-He was going to kill you," she muttered. "I couldn't allow him to do that."

Erik smiled with relief. "I know," he agreed. "You saved us. You saved us both."

"H-How did they find me?"

Erik hesitated. He didn't know how to answer. He couldn't answer. He froze up, tensed. Concern over her interest in this subject had eluded him during the fight. He certainly didn't want to lie to her again, but he didn't want to hurt her. That was the very last thing he wanted.

She turned her head toward him. "Erik, what were they doing here?"

He took a deep breath. He couldn't lose her. "After you were attacked that first time, Christine, I couldn't cope. I hated myself for letting something terrible happen to you. I had to find a way to get to these men and make them pay. You have to understand," he begged.

He could see the information soaking in. Then he saw the physical manifestation. Christine's eyes narrowed in realization and she stood in order to face him. She couldn't be near him, especially if he had done what she thought he had.

"What did you do?" she asked harshly. When he didn't answer, she tried again. "Erik, what did you do?"

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "The only way I could ensure that they would attend was if you were present, as well."

There was a pause. "So you used me?" she accused. "You used me as bait?"

Erik stood, desperate. "Christine, please, I never would have put you out there if I hadn't thought I had it all under control."

"But you didn't have it completely under your control, Erik." Tears had filled her eyes. They were a bit from anger and a bit from frustration, but mostly just from disappointment. Hurt. "You were too concerned about seeking revenge, which I didn't even ask you to do, that you couldn't see the danger you had put my life in, as well as your own."

"You are all I care about, Christine," he confessed. "Everything I have done has been for you—to protect you, to make you happy."

"Well I don't want it—any of it!"

She twirled away from him quickly. Her hands clenched at her sides and the tears began to roll silently down her cheeks. She didn't want him to see how much she hurt. Her entire world was crumbling in the span of one night.

To steady her vision and her mind, she stared at the statue ahead. She realized now that she had been wrong in her initial analysis of it. The angel was not offering life or death to the figure. The mask was a life void of judgment and hatred. It would allow the figure to live within society instead of feel alienated from it. The sword, on the other hand, was the life should envy and anger rule. The figure could allow its deformity, whatever it might be, to become its entire life and thusly behave accordingly. It could choose to keep everyone at a distance and remain in darkness and despair.

Christine swallowed, levelling her voice. "I want you to stay away from me, Erik. I am going to leave this place, and I don't want you to try to find me."

"What?" he breathed.

"I…I just can't forgive you yet," she whispered.

Christine limped back into the labyrinth, unafraid this time of becoming lost. She already was, as far as she was concerned. She would immediately return to her room, pack her belongings, and leave. She wouldn't waste another night in that chateau. She wouldn't waste anymore tears on that man. She knew it wasn't over, though. She still had to weigh everything he had done and determine her future based on the outcome.

No, it would never be over.


	21. Songbird

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

**Title: Songbird**

**Summary:** After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

**Author's Note:** We have come to the final chapter. It is bittersweet indeed. I figured that this story deserved a happy ending, so prepare for the cheese. Thank you all for your support and continuing interest. I hope the ending meets expectations and is satisfactory. It was very fun to see this idea of mine come into being and get flushed out. Honestly I couldn't have seen it to fruition without the help from all of you viewers. Thank you all!

**Chapter 21 – Songbird**

_Four months later…_

Erik worked away vigorously at the sheet of music open in front of him. The notes weren't falling into place the way he wanted them to. He scribbled out what he had previously written, frustrated. It had been four months since she had left and he had been completely immersed in his music ever since. He had managed to actually finish another opera in a record time of three months. He had just been that devoted and had had that much inspiration.

His fingers danced over the piano as he attempted to proceed with his next piece. Right from the beginning this one hadn't shown much success. He hadn't turned out a single song yet and he had been working on it for weeks. It had become more of a way to distract himself than divine purpose.

Ever since Christine had walked away from him that night in the labyrinth, he had resumed the dark, aggressive state that he had once known. Perhaps he had sunk even further, though. He had been so hurt, yet he couldn't blame her for her choice. He hadn't gone after her immediately. He had picked up his mask and had secured it. It was the long walk back out of the maze that had had his mind turning. It was the time afterward when her absence had first been noticed that had hit him hard, too.

He banged on the keys aggressively then grabbed the music sheets in two fists and ripped them to shreds in exasperation. He threw the scraps into the air behind him where they floated slowly to the ground. He stood up, the seat scooting loudly against the flooring, and stalked to the windows. Only the one sat uncovered and open. It had gotten quite cold outside to where the leaves on the trees were nearly shed and the flowers had gone into hibernation.

He placed a hand on the wall next to the panes to balance upon. He stared out at the gardens, recalling the last time he had set foot in them. He had been unable to bring himself to tour them after that evening. He had spoken to Joseph Buquet immediately after exiting the maze about cleaning up the little mess left behind at the labyrinth's center. He had to admit that it wasn't the first time, but Buquet always came through in the disposal.

Erik had never actually seen Christine depart, but he knew she had gone. He could feel it. He had shut himself away in his private chambers for days at first, not eating and hardly sleeping. If sleep did come, it was never restful. Then, the inspiration hit. Though he remained just as reclusive, he at least summoned Madame Giry to bring up meals. Working feverishly in this manner, he managed to produce an opera in only a few months.

The opera had been based around the one person he just couldn't get out of his head. It revolved around a young woman with a voice unlike anything that had ever been heard before. In the storyline, with no family to speak of, she is taken in by a travelling circus looking to exploit her gift. In the circus, she meets a deformed man, who loves her and she learns to love in return. However, as the couple attempts to flee from their bondage, they are set upon by the owners and their manservants. At the end, the deformed man sacrifices himself so that his beloved can escape. It is revealed that having experienced love was enough for him. Knowing she would be safe and be able to live was comfort enough.

There was already a lot of buzz surrounding his new opera. It was set to premier at the Palais Garnier in a week's time, and he had already been invited to attend its opening. The answer would most likely be in the negative. After all, he hadn't even read the note himself. Madame Giry had informed him through the closed door to his chambers. Despite having poured out a lot into its creation, he was still sensitive to its underlying subject matter. He didn't know that he could trust himself to actually see it performed.

There was a soft knock on the outer door. He hardly noticed, never turning his head or disrupting his pensive demeanor. His head still hung heavily.

"Leave it," he called.

Supper must have been prepared early. Madame Giry knew better than to knock. She knew to just leave the tray at the door for him. Despite his instructions, there issued another knock.

This time Erik sighed in annoyance, though refused to move from his spot. Instead, he yelled over his shoulder, "Well, come in then if you must, woman."

He shook his head, hearing the door open and close softly. He didn't understand, but then again his patience ran low these days. He was surprised that his entire staff hadn't abandoned him, too. He certainly didn't give them cause for loyalty with how he had been acting toward them. He was slightly surprised at how light the footsteps sounded. Usually Madame Giry walked with more of a purpose.

"Is it so much for a master to ask for some peace in his own home?" he muttered gruffly, just loud enough to be heard. He wanted to make his temper felt.

"If you continue to speak that way, you'll find yourself with nothing but peace," a voice scolded.

He recognized that voice. Despite not having heard it in four long months, he could still identify it without any doubt. He spun around in stunned disbelief. But sure enough, there she was.

Christine loitered somewhat awkwardly mere feet from him, and she couldn't have looked better.

Her thick hair cascaded down her back. It was held from her face by a set of barrettes. She was wearing a heavier frock fit for the season. Most importantly, and what he noticed foremost, was that all signs of injury from the last time he had seen her had faded. There was color to her cheeks and energy in her eyes. Through it all, she hadn't lost her spark.

"Christine," he breathed, as if speaking too loudly would frighten her away. In fact, he was still trying to cope with her presence. He was quite nervous that she was an illusion that would fade away at any moment.

"I can see that you've fallen back into your bad habits since I've been gone," she continued, hardly giving him time for a proper reunion. "Something I'm sure we can break you of given enough time."

Erik was still trying to catch up. "Wh-What are you doing here?"

Christine sighed, realizing she would have to explain herself, which was something she had wanted to avoid. "Imagine my surprise," she informed, much the same way he had done to her the very first time they had met, "when I receive a script of a new opera by Paris's most celebrated composer; and, there is a strong sense of familiarity when reading through the part of the main female character."

He shook his head. "I never intended it specifically for you. You must believe me. It was only a means of expressing and releasing my feelings. After you left…" He trailed off, shaking his head again. He didn't want to drudge up that dark state he had been in.

"I had been right in leaving," she insisted.

"I know." He peered at her carefully. "That was why I didn't go after you."

She sighed, trying to appear distracted. "There are times when I wish you had."

Erik fell silent. He didn't know what to think anymore. He didn't know why she was standing in front of him. He didn't know what her intentions were for finally meeting with him face-to-face. Thus far, he could only determine that she meant to make him suffer even more.

He held his arms out. "Is this why you've come, Christine? Did you want me to have even more regrets, more suffering?"

"Not at all," she reassured. "But your betrayal hurt, Erik. I didn't know if I could trust you anymore. I still don't! And it kills me to think that you don't care about me enough to see how you have wronged me."

He was immediately just inches in front of her. His hands were just below her shoulders, comforting, yet strong. "The problem is that I care too much!" he insisted. "I care so much that I would go to any length to see that you are safe. If that means making a mistake here or there then I will gladly accept it. So I will apologize for deceiving you. If there had been a way to get to those men without using you, I would have jumped at the chance. But doing so allowed me to ensure your safety, and I won't apologize for that. You are all that matters to me, Christine. And, you can trust in that."

She sniffled, pulling back the tears that were threatening to fall. That was exactly what she had wanted to hear. She brought a handkerchief to her eyes, dabbing at the wetness left behind. It caused Erik to release her, and allowed her to take a step or two away.

"The song of apology and devotion that your deformed male lead sings right before his death," she said, "was actually yours."

"Yes," he breathed. He couldn't tear his eyes off of her, unsure what she was going to do next.

She pivoted, framed by the open window and the dim sunlight streaming in. "I knew the moment I had read it. I instantly forgave you." She moved in closer to him, the distance between them diminishing again. "And, I knew I had to thank you, as well."

He shook his head. "For what?"

"For coming to my rescue. For saving my life." She shrugged. "For everything. I don't know where I'd be right now if it wasn't for you."

He stared longingly into her eyes, as if trying to get her to understand. "Christine, I would do anything for you. I would protect you from Death himself. So believe me when I say it was nothing, really."

"No," she stated softly. She reached up with her white-lace gloved hands to either side of his face, drawing him closer to her. "It was everything."

The words were just a whisper on her lips. She instantly closed the remaining gap between them, her lips on his. She was the one to initiate it; and, at first, she was the only one involved. Erik didn't know what to do. He had never been shown this kind of tenderness and love. Coming from Christine, especially, who he had learned to care so dearly about, it was almost too much. His heart felt as though it might explode in jubilation. In a life where only darkness and disappointment had reigned, there was suddenly a strange glimmer of something new.

All Christine had wanted was for Erik to apologize and to say what he really felt. In their time apart, she had come to realize her feelings for Erik were much stronger than her anger toward him. It was only when she had read through his entire opera that she finally mustered up the courage to show her face again. It had made her realize that they had both been rather stubborn. All the while she had yearned for this—this kiss.

Erik relaxed into the embrace. He chased away the doubts that always plagued him when a little kindness was shown to him. For, here she was. She had returned to him. She was the one insisting on the kiss, and all he could do was fall into it. He would fall forever if he could. He had meant everything he had said to her and more. He loved her. She had opened his heart, which seemed an impossible feat. And yet, she had his heart. Her and her alone.

It was Erik who backed away from their embrace. He stared at her, nothing but adoration in his eyes. "Christine," he started, stuttering slightly, "I…N-No one's ever-"

"Hush," she commanded with a soft, pleasant smile. "I don't care about anybody else. It's just you and me now."

Erik grinned. "Christine, you could have any man you want. Why me?"

A sly smirk touched her lips. "Do our hearts ask 'why' when we love? The songbird does not ask why she sings," Christine informed, repeating the message he had given her when they had first met. "It comes from her heart—a vast, mysterious place where the question 'why' is not relevant." She wrapped her arms around his neck, staring into his dark eyes. "I do not ask 'why' because there is no simple answer. My heart is yours and will be forever."

Erik snaked his arms around her waist, holding her close. He never wanted to let go, and it turned out he wouldn't have to. He brought his head down to her level, their foreheads touching. "I think I can accept that," he whispered.

Then his lips fell onto hers once more.

_Fin_


End file.
